Erebor Reclaimed, Book Two: Inikhdê
by BlueRiverSteel
Summary: After the traumatic events of the Battle of Five Armies, the dwarves are busy restoring Erebor to its former glory. But even as Kili sets off to fulfil his promise to Dis and Fili works to establish his reign, forces are at work that would see the end of Durin's line and the power of the Mountain in the hands of Middle Earth's oldest and darkest enemy...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Hello All! Welcome to the new tale! This is very firmly set in AU! Territory, and is the sequel to _Erebor Reclaimed, Book One: When Comes the Dawn._ I'll try to make this one readable for those of you who haven't read When Comes the Dawn, but you might get more out of it if you check out that story first.

To my readers jumping over from Dawn, welcome back! Hope this lives up to expectations!

"Inikhdê" is Khuzdul for "return to me" and is the word that Kili's mother Dis carved into the runestone she gave him before he left Ered Luin. In this tale, we see the new Prince of Erebor's journey to make good on that promise he made nearly a year prior.

As always, crazy huge thanks to **summerald**, **Princess Quill**, **Violet Brock**, and all of you who review and support my writing! I can't express it enough. Oh, and **Eruwaedhiel95**, here you go, dear.

Enjoy!

* * *

_To the Lady Dis, Daughter of Thrain, Princess of Erebor, Greetings!_

_I pray this letter finds you in good health and cheer. You have no doubt heard the tidings of our Company, that Smaug the Dragon is dead and Erebor reclaimed by the Heirs of Durin; and that I, your loving son Fíli, reign as King Under the Mountain. _

_I do not know what you have been told regarding our success here, Mother, but I wish to inform you myself that my Royal Brother and I are both well and healthy, thanks to the efforts of many; but not least of all our dear Deorynn Lelaenil. It is my desire that you meet the lass, as your youngest son has fallen quite in love with her and they wish to be married. She is brave, Mother, and kind and intelligent; everything you taught us to look for in a wife, so I cannot begrudge Kíli's good fortune in finding her. _

_I also hope that however you received the news of Uncle Thorin's death, it was not too harsh and you have been given opportunity to grieve properly. We miss him terribly, Kíli and I, but were there when he passed; Mister Dwalin helped escort him to the Halls of Mandos, and it was as peaceful a departure from this world as I suppose could be expected. I wish one of us could've been there for you, though, for the news must have been bitter indeed to a beloved sister._

_As to happier matters, it is my pleasure to notify you that Erebor is sending an Honor Guard to escort you here, along with any of the Blue Mountain settlement that wish to relocate to Erebor. The guard will be led by your Royal Son Kíli, and is scheduled to arrive in Ered Luin around the first of March. Please have the caravan ready at that time._

_It is with a heart full of love and eagerness to see you, I remain,_

_Your Son,_

_Fíli_

_Post Script: Hello, Mother! We miss you horribly, and I cannot wait to fulfil my promise to you by returning to your loving embrace at the beginning of spring! Be safe, stay strong, and we love you! -Kíli_

"Mahal, Fíli, you sound like Mister Balin in that letter," Kíli laughed. "Mum's going to slap you upside the head with it when I bring her back here."

Fíli grimaced. "I know, I know. Balin helped me compose it; says as it's an official letter from the King of Erebor to the Princess, it ought to read officially. I had to fight him to get in that bit about Uncle."

"Lands sakes, Fee, she's our mother!"

"That's what I said!"

Kíli grinned. "Well. If you want to write her something less…stuffy…I'll happily take it to her myself when we go."

Fíli's face brightened. "Really? Thank you, _nadadith_!" He clapped Kíli on the shoulder with a laugh that quickly turned into a groan. "Now it's back to missives, proposals, treaties, and official letters—most of which are congratulations and requests to visit—and honestly, Kee, I am not nearly so ready for this as I thought I was…"

"That's what you got me and Mister Balin for!" Kíli said cheerfully, hugging his brother round the shoulders. Fíli cocked his eyebrow, and Kíli laughed out loud. "What?"

Fíli just ruffled his hair in a most un-kingly fashion.

* * *

Deorynn Lelaenil, former wanderer and intended of Prince Kíli, was walking rather more quickly than was strictly proper through the halls of Erebor. A few stopped and stared, but Lady Deorynn was not the most conventional of future princesses, and most of them were slowly growing used to her oddities. Things like wearing leggings and tunics—men's gear—much of the time, especially while working, hunting, or riding; which she did much more often than a Lady ought. She was not crass or overtly-masculine, by any means, and knew how to conduct herself during Court functions and the like; she just wasn't much concerned with what the elder dwarves called 'feminine propriety.'

And so she cantered down the hallway, calling out when she finally saw her Prince.

"Kíli!" He turned and smiled, and when she reached him, she grabbed him by the lapels and hissed, "We need to talk."

He didn't protest—much—just let her lead him into a nearby chamber. The guards to the King's Study snickered to each other.

Once inside, Ryn shoved an official-looking document at his chest.

"What is this?"

He did not look surprised. "It is a notice—a rather confidential notice, given to you as a courtesy, I might add—of who I have selected to ride to Ered Luin with me next week."

"Yes," she stated, pacing before him like an agitated lioness. "And whose name is conspicuously missing from that list?"

Kíli cocked an eyebrow. "I assume you mean yours."

"You assume nothing," she hissed. "We talked about this, Kíli, I'm coming with you."

"Ryn, we talked but we never agreed. You cannot come, it is not proper and it is dangerous."

She looked affronted. "Neither of those reasons is good enough! I care not if it is improper, and you treat me as if I'm some delicate court lass! Let me remind you that I—"

"—survived in the wild, alone, for fifty years, with no help, no family, and no friends; yes, I remember," Kíli sighed. "But you're not that girl anymore."

"I'm certainly not the one you are trying to turn me into!" she protested. "The prim and proper princess who needs help from her handmaidens to dress, bathe, and ready herself for the day—who _does_ that?—who never speaks unless spoken to, who minds her place and her—"

"—Now hold on!" It was Kíli's turn to shout. "I never tried to turn you into that! You're the most opinionated, independent, stubborn woman I know; and I wouldn't have you any other way, Ryn." He tried for a more tender tack, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "You know that, _idúzhib_. I don't want to change you; I only want to keep you safe. And keep the courtiers off my back."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Kíli, the courtiers already have plenty to talk about, what's one more thing? And I appreciate your concern, but you can't keep me locked up in this mountain for the rest of my life! Please, my love: let me come with you."

She held his gaze and adopted what Kíli privately called her "lost puppy look".

_Blasted woman. She knows I can't resist her when she's like this._

"We both figured that's what you'd say," Fíli interjected. Ryn looked shocked, then embarrassed as she realized belatedly the chamber she'd pulled Kíli into was actually Fíli's study. She wanted to slap that smug grin off his face, but remembered in time that he was Fíli her King, not Fíli her Friend.

So she curtseyed instead.

"My Lord, I am sorry—"

He chuckled. "Ryn, don't bother. We both know you're itching to unleash that sharp tongue on me as well as my brother, just as you would've on the road."

"Yes, before you were the King Under the Mountain," she muttered, and he frowned.

"I am still Fíli."

She let the point pass. "Then Fíli, you should know I—"

"—I do," he interrupted her again. Kíli nearly laughed aloud at the look on her face. Fíli was continuing, "Kíli and I agreed you would not be left behind, though we had to suggest it, just to say we did. Therefore, you will be added to the list; after all, we both know you're perfectly capable of going along, and might even save a life or two on the trip. But to shut up the advisors and courtiers, you'll have to take a handmaiden along."

This time Kíli did laugh, unable to contain his mirth at the half-shocked, half-disgusted look on his beloved's face.

She did not find this amusing.

"A _handmaiden_? Are you serious?"

Fíli was fighting a smile of his own. "Unfortunately, yes. They'll still whine, but it'll all be much more proper if you have a lady's maid along with you. You are at liberty to choose your own, though, neither Kíli nor I are idiotic enough to try to make that decision for you."

Ryn was still looking rather stunned when Kíli took her hand. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

"I want you to come," he said with a smile. "Dangerous or not. So choose a handmaiden, my love, and start packing; because we're going to Ered Luin next week. Together."

She nodded slowly and left the room without so much as a word to Fíli, who waited until she had left the room before he burst out laughing.

"Oh brother, did you see her face?"

* * *

"Raela!" Ryn called when she reached her chambers again. She had just left the lass when she stormed out to see Kíli, so she wouldn't have gone far.

"Here, my lady, what can I do for you?" Ryn smiled when she turned to her favorite lady's maid.

Raela had been one of the first lasses to relocate to Erebor from the Iron Hills. She was a little older than Ryn, poor and without connections; but a hard worker, strong and intelligent. She was quiet, except when propriety was breached—and then she could lecture with the best of them, Ryn knew. Raela's dark hair and gray eyes framed a sweet face that loved to smile more than frown, and she served her mistress with intense loyalty—so much so that the other maids had learned to hush their gossip about Ryn around her, because she would quickly set straight anyone who spoke against Lady Deorynn.

Their first meeting had been rather embarrassing for her part, Ryn remembered. She had just finished a hard day's work out in the slushy snow, clearing debris from before the Great Gate. Some old dwarf lord had fussed at her for laboring outside with the men all day, and she was tired, cold, and hungry when she entered her chambers.

She'd nearly screamed when she'd realized someone else was in there already.

Raela had curtseyed with a little smile. "Raela of the Iron Hills, at your service."

Forcing herself not to stare at the shorter dwarf lass, Ryn had inclined her head. "Deorynn, of Nowhere In Particular, at yours."

Instead of that introduction meeting with a scowl of disapproval, as Ryn had expected, she was pleased to hear the lass laugh; a soft chuckle that immediately endeared Ryn to her. "And now we're both of Erebor, my Lady," Raela had responded, "and I'm your new handmaiden."

"Oh."

"Have you ever had a handmaiden?"

Ryn blinked, and then felt a laugh of her own escape. "Until six months ago, I lived completely alone, on the road, without so much as a friend to my name. So no, I've never had a handmaiden."

The lass had gone on to explain just what her duties were; some of them (like bathing) Ryn had dismissed entirely, while some of them (repairing clothing and helping her into those impossible dresses she had to wear to Court) she was grateful for.

Raela had been such a refreshing change from the giggling, whispering girls that served as maids in the King's Halls, and Ryn was grateful for her friendship and her expertise in all things court-related.

So when Fíli had said she needed a handmaiden to come along to Ered Luin, there had never really been any other choice, for Ryn's part.

"Raela, how do you feel about adventures?"

* * *

That evening, a feast was held in Erebor's Great Hall, in honor of the party leaving for Ered Luin in a few days, as well as to celebrate the last of the debris in the main living and working areas of the mountain being finally cleared, after nine weeks of hard work.

He watched the King laughing with his brother, the hobbit that had wintered with them in Erebor, and that half-blooded bastard almost-princess. The lass really was quite pretty, if you could ignore the lack of facial hair and what it meant. He grimaced. Perhaps when this was all over, his Lord would allow him to take her for himself, just for a little while before he killed her. She would be vulnerable enough, with her Intended gone to Ered Luin.

He grinned, careful to keep it light to avoid drawing any attention to himself amongst his comrades here.

* * *

Ryn lay beside Kíli that night, trying to catch her breath as every nerve ending tingled in the aftermath of their…activities. She giggled a little, burrowing into his heaving side as he stroked her hair.

He tugged on one of her courtship braids, worn visibly with a chain of mithril and tiny diamonds woven into them now that they were engaged, and she was immediately taken back to the day he had gifted her with the lovely jewelry.

_It was the morning of the Winter Solstice, and far too cold to be outside watching the sunrise; though she was anyway, the cold air refreshing after a night of swirling terrors in her dreams. The eastern watch post provided a magnificent view in the mornings, when the sun rose bright and fierce over the plains to the east of the Lonely Mountain; and there were no guards assigned to this post yet, as the watch schedule (among other things) was still being developed three weeks after the Battle of Five Armies._

_She was singing to herself, allowing the cheery tune to chase away whatever of the nightmares the sunshine and frigid wind left behind, when a hand slipped into hers. She turned, only slightly alarmed—no one knew to find her here except her beloved—and smiled when she saw him, hair mussed and sleep still in his eyes. She rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but the sneaky blighter turned his head and caught her lips with his own instead. Ryn chuckled into his mouth, not at all displeased by the attention, and let her kiss go tender._

_He pulled away a moment later, holding something that sparkled in the early morning sun. Ryn blinked, intrigued. _

"_What is it?"_

_He held it out, his open palm revealing that it was two chains of sparkling mithril and diamonds, the kind dwarf women braided into their hair._

"_I want to re-do your braids," Kíli murmured. _

_She knew what that meant._

"_You what?"_

_He grinned. "I want to braid these into your hair, if you'll allow it. The mithril is indestructible, like our love, and the diamonds reflect your beauty…please Ryn, will you have me? Will you grow old with me and bear my children? Will you bind yourself to me and walk through this life with me by your side? Marry me, Ryn, please say you will…"_

_He was interrupted by her lips on his, her tears against his cheeks._

"_Yes."_

The memory of it had her smiling like an idiot and kissing Kíli's damp chest below her cheek. He moaned.

"Woman, you have to stop, I'm exhausted."

She laughed. "Sorry, love, I was just remembering Winter Solstice."

"Mmmm," he smiled. "The best moment of my entire life so far."

She nuzzled his nose to cover the choke of tears in her eyes.

"Mine too."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Yay, new characters! Y'all get to meet several in this chapter. Enjoy!

For new readers' sakes, Ryn is a descendent of the Eiri ("Ay-iri"), an ancient race created at the behest of the Vala Estë (much like the Ents were created at Yavanna's request) to be healers of the hurts of Arda. They could use a power called the _Falancurú_ that enabled them to apply living energy from outside sources (animals, plants, enemies or even allies) to a wound to heal it. The Eiri were destroyed during the last Great War (the same one in which Isildur cut the One Ring from Sauron's finger) when they were specifically targeted by the Dark Lord. Ryn has only recently discovered her power and is learning to use it with the help of an elf in Thranduil's court who was close to the Eiri and learned some of their secrets.

Huge thanks to **summerald** for her help with this chapter, and for being such a rockin' fellow writer!

* * *

It was raining in the Blue Mountain Settlement. Inside the Halls, one could not really tell, but Dis had been watching for a courier for days, and thus was quite a bit more aware of the weather than she normally would be.

Kíli had promised in his last letter that Fíli would be writing her within a few days. She'd heard very little from her elder son in the month since the Battle of Five Armies, as folks were calling it. To be fair, he'd been busy enough she worried for his health—Kíli said he was working nonstop from sunup until well past sunset every day, stopping only to eat and sleep, and that not nearly as much as Kíli would like. Her youngest had spoken of insisting on taking some of the load from him; and Dis herself had penned a strongly-worded letter to Balin, threatening him within an inch of his life if he didn't ensure her son's well-being.

Not that threats were necessary, Balin loved her boys; but he did tend to get a bit…enthusiastic.

A horse pounded into the Hall from the outside. Dripping wet, the courier dismounted, smiling at the small excited crowd that instantly gathered.

Letters were often scarce, a courier's job dangerous, and there was never any guarantee a piece of correspondence would make its destination. But this courier was bearing two Royal Sigils Dis recognized instantly.

They were her sons'. Both of them.

She smiled as she took them from the courier and pressed several gold coins into his hand. "Rest yourself and your mount, good sir," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "We have room enough for you both, and bread to spare." The young dwarf bowed and let his wet steed away.

Dis knew people would expect news of Erebor, so she opened Fíli's letter—a rather official-looking thing sealed with a royal signet instead of the simpler ones her boys generally preferred—and read through it quickly. It was written in his hand, and with his voice, but more the voice he used when training in his kingship role than the one she was used to hearing from him at home.

She smiled.

Balin.

Still, there was a crowd gathered around their Princess, waiting for news to take to all corners of Thorin's Halls; so she raised her voice and called,

"King Fíli has invited anyone who wishes to relocate to Erebor to come!" Cheers met this announcement; many of the dwarrow here had been waiting for just such an invitation. Dis continued, "The caravan will leave around the third of March. A royal guard will arrive on March first, led by our own Prince Kíli! If you wish to come with us, please see Brydda or me, we will make a list. Now begone with you, and spread the word!"

The crowd dispersed, laughter and cheer in abundant supply, and Brydda met Dis halfway.

"Finally," she murmured, eyes shining. "I have missed my Gloin so desperately, and so has Gimli, though he'd sooner die than admit it."

Dis laughed. "Thorin was much the same way, as was Frerin."

"Lady Dis!" a young red-haired lass, barely of age, ran to Dis, grasping her hands excitedly. "Is it true? Are we finally going to Erebor?"

"Yes, Sêla dear, it is true! Fíli has things well in hand there; I think they were waiting for the worst of the snows to have passed." Dis handed her the letter. "Here, see for yourself."

Sêla's blue eyes scanned the parchment, drinking in the words. "He wrote this, I recognize his handwriting…but it doesn't really sound like him, does it?"

"Of course not, sister, he's writing as King Under the Mountain now, isn't he?" a slightly older lass joined them with a smile, looking over Sêla's shoulder. "Mahal, but I've missed those boys."

Sêla smiled, handing the letter back to Dis. "Anora speaks for us both."

"All of us," Dis agreed. "We've all missed them quite horribly. But Kíli will be here soon! Let's see what his letter says, mm?"

She broke the seal and read out loud:

_Mother,_

_I wasn't going to write an entire letter myself (hence the sloppy postscript spoiling the end of Fíli's stuffy official letter), but I thought after he'd sealed it, that perhaps you'd best know what our itinerary is._

_The guard (I've listed its members below for you) will depart Erebor next week, on the twentieth of January. We're going to trace our steps back to Rivendell and take the Great East Road through the Shire. We'll cross the Lune and then go north to Thorin's Halls from Duillond. A more northern route may be faster, even through the wilderness;, except that it's still winter; and I do believe we've all had quite enough of orcs for the time being._

_That said, the journey should take between thirty and forty days, if all goes well. When we depart on the caravan, we'll have a slower time of it; and also we'd like to stop in Hobbiton so you can meet our esteemed burglar, Mr. Baggins. He is also quite the fast friend, mother, and you'll be pleased to hear it; for he was steadfastly loyal to Uncle, even near the end when things got bad. I promise to tell you the entire tale when I see you._

_Accompanying us will be my intended, Ryn, and her handmaiden, Raela. I pray this does not alarm you; Ryn is quite capable of taking care of herself (and me) on the road. She has had plenty of practice; which is yet another story I must tell you when we arrive. Or perhaps I'll let Ryn tell you—though she'd probably stutter and stumble her way through it, she's quite nervous about meeting you. It amuses me perhaps more than it ought to, I'll admit, because to me, you've always been Mama, not scary intimidating Princess Dis. _

_Please tell Brydda that Gloin is absolutely going mad with excitement to see her. I think he'd have us leaving Erebor tonight if he could._

_Also, give my greetings to Anora, Sêla, and Rognus, will you? I cannot wait to see them all again._

_With love,_

_Kíli_

"Well there you have it, ladies," Dis smiled at the two young ones. "He hasn't forgotten his favorite childhood friends after all."

Both girls were flushed with pleasure, eyes shining. Anora laughed. "And he is engaged to be married? Our Kíli?"

"I wonder what she's like," Sêla murmured to her sister, "I'll bet she's beautiful."

"And smart."

"And probably a bit on the snarky side," the girls walked away, waving their goodbyes with their heads together.

"They'll have that poor child completely imagined up before she even gets here," Brydda said fondly.

Dis nodded, her smile slightly forced.

Kíli, engaged? To a woman she hadn't even met? It was a lot for any mother to take in, but for Dis it seemed harder than it ought to have been. Kíli had historically had trouble in the lady department, and she wondered if his engagement was a wise one.

Fíli approved, but he was also very young and wanted nothing more than his brother's happiness.

But was the girl suitable for her son? Could she handle the rigors of royalty by marriage? Would she truly love Kíli after years of stress had taken their toll on his body?

Did she understand what Kíli's role as the Spare meant? Would she love him if he had to fulfill the worst possible responsibility of that role, or would she be bitter and angry at the end of it all?

She wished she'd been able to talk with Thorin about it. Perhaps he could've shed some light on this relationship that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Dis walked home slowly, aching more than ever now to see her boys; hold them in her arms and know for sure they were all right, that the last year had not turned them into something different than she knew, that she hadn't lost them.

_March first. Just make it to March first._

* * *

"Now reach deeper, Miriel, you need stronger magic for poisons; you're doing more than simply healing torn skin and muscle, you have to purge the body of the toxin or your patient will die."

Ryn clenched her teeth, wiping impatiently at her sweaty brow. "I'm not sure how to go deeper, Galaron, I feel like I'm pushing as hard as I can already."

"Then stop. We don't want to unintentionally hurt anyone or kill the entire garden. Go back to the tome, see if there's any help in there. The magic in your hands should be sparking, if you're digging far enough."

Ryn let the magic go, feeling exhausted as it drained away. She stood to fetch the tome and nearly fell over; Galaron caught her gently. "Are you all right?"

She gave him a weak smile. "Definitely. Just tired, is all."

"Have you been sleeping?"

She shrugged him off, hesitating.

"Of course," she answered, after a moment.

"Liar." He said it with amusement.

Ryn sighed. "There's just a lot going on, is all, what with work to help restore Erebor, and princely duties for Kíli, plus he's trying to relieve some of the burden on Fíli, getting ready for the trip to Ered Luin…I don't feel like I'm doing enough, and I'm already too busy to stop and breathe. But it doesn't bother me anyway," she turned to the desk, hiding her face. "Sleep offers no relief unless Kíli is with me, and that happens much less often than I'd like."

Galaron did not shy or lecture her for her bluntness, as she knew he wouldn't. He had seen the aftermath of the battle, he knew to what she referred and was no stranger to the relief from nightmares that a warm body or complete exhaustion—preferably both—offered.

"Miriel," he murmured, hand on her back. "It is normal to experience such things after the kind of battle you endured. It is why some cultures are so hesitant to let their women fight; it stems from a desire to protect them from such horrors."

Ryn shook her head. "I've seen horrors before. I was captured by orcs twice, remember? Their treatment of prisoners is worse than abominable. I don't know why this is affecting me so. The only thing I can think is that I'm becoming _dependent_ on Kíli, and I hate that feeling."

Galaron smiled, which made Ryn frown. "First of all, there is nothing wrong with depending on someone. It is not weakness to need help sometimes, my Lady; you are the furthest thing from weak I have ever witnessed. But healing from a trauma such as the one you faced will take time."

She said nothing, focusing instead on swallowing past the lump in her throat. She was just so _tired_.

"I think part of it may have to do with your method of healing Kíli that day, as well," Galaron said carefully. "It was not only your body that suffered from that exchange, but your mind and spirit as well."

Ryn looked up at him, confused.

"Miriel, you nearly _died_," the elf said emphatically. "You forced your magic to do something it wasn't intended to do, stole too much of your own life energy to save another—it was a noble deed, no question, but also a harsh one. You came closer to death that night than you've ever been, and had to fight your way back. You told me it was a supremely unpleasant experience."

_Kíli's throat gushing blood down his chest, Bilbo's body being desecrated by orcs_…the things her mind had shown her through that ordeal were truly horrific.

"It was."

"Then give yourself time to heal from it," Galaron pleaded. "It has only been six weeks since the battle. It's still really fresh, the wound."

She nodded. "I understand."

Galaron sighed. "If you need to, drink some valerian tea to sleep. Or something stronger." He gave her a soft smile. "You're the herb expert."

She managed a small smile back. "Indeed I am."

* * *

Fíli dismissed the council members, maintaining his stoic expression until they all left the room and Frâr shut the door. Then he flopped into his chair, putting his face in his hands with a moan.

The newly-appointed Captain of the Guard looked curiously at his king. Such displays of temper—even in private—were rarely shown in Dain's Halls, where he came from. But then, this wasn't the Iron Hills, as he was reminded nearly every day. If a society took its world view from its leader, then he had a feeling Erebor was going to be a very different place than he was used to.

Honestly, the lassie who was going to be a princess of Erebor was a bloody _warrior_. That kind of thing was unheard of where he came from. Women didn't fight, and those who wished to certainly weren't women of the court.

He knew Thorin's people were different; it was part of why he had come when the call for aid had sounded from Erebor. The Blue Mountain Folk, having originated in Erebor, were far too acquainted with grief and loss to care much for an overabundance of ceremony and riches. Ideas that were held tightly in the Iron Hills, like whether women fought, or arranging marriages based upon political and financial gain, or the intricate and overwhelming amount of ceremony involved in everything from eating one's supper to getting married; such things just weren't possible or important when one was a refugee. Even now, when the Blue Mountain Folk were prosperous and well-settled in Thorin's Halls, they had not forgotten what it was like to lose everything.

He wondered if they would forget here, now that Erebor was returned to them.

If his recent interactions with the King and Prince were any indication, they would not. Sad as he was at the death of his hero, Thorin Oakenshield, he had a feeling that Fíli's reign beginning with the death of one he had seen as a father figure and even now mourned would keep that mindset alive and well in his heart—and through him, Erebor's heart.

Frâr was impressed with how well the young King was handling his new responsibilities, shows of temper and all. He was quick to listen to wise counsel, and seemed to have an innate ability to read people—and by extension, their motives.

That considered, he was rather flattered the King had selected him to be Captain of the King's Guard, passing over some of the more experienced warriors.

Or it could just be he felt he owed Frâr something, since Frâr had intercepted a blow meant for him during the Battle of Five Armies.

_Anyone would've done it._

But he hoped that wasn't the reason. And if it was, he would just work harder, learn faster, be fiercer; he would earn his post, even if he hadn't already.

He would protect King Fíli with his life, so the lad could focus on ruling with his heart.

Because whatever happened, Frâr desperately hoped Fíli did not change. Fria's future, as well as Erebor's, depended upon it.

"Frâr?" the King asked, his voice muffled.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Could you just kill me now, please?"

Frâr fought a smile. "I'm sorry, my Lord, I'm quite sure that would defeat the entire purpose of my being here."

The King raised his head to look at his young Captain, cocking an eyebrow. Frâr allowed his smile to quirk one side of his lips, and the King grinned.

"Yes well. That much is true." He sighed.

"My Lord, if I may speak freely?"

Fíli looked a little surprised. "Yes, of course. Please, feel free to tell me whatever you need to."

The Captain shook his head to clear it of disbelief. Did this lad know he was an oddity among kings?

"I think perhaps you are pushing yourself too hard, Highness."

Fíli's eyebrow quirked in an expression of quiet amusement. "So you agree with my brother?"

No use pretending he hadn't heard their rather loud disagreement on the subject two nights ago.

"I do, my Lord."

"Perhaps you both are right. There is just so much to do…"

"That is why you are King, sire. Find people to do the jobs you cannot." Frâr looked his King in the eye. "Your job is to lead, not manage."

Fíli's eyes widened as he regarded Frâr, and the lad blushed and looked down. "I'm sorry. I have spoken out of turn…"

"No." Fíli's voice was steady. "No, that's….that's exactly what Thorin used to tell me. Not to get so caught up in the inane that I forget to rule…I had forgotten." He looked stricken.

Frâr pitied him. "You are barely six weeks into being a King, sire; do not judge yourself too harshly."

Fíli just nodded.

* * *

The night before they left for Ered Luin, Kíli smiled when he walked into his chambers and saw them already occupied. Ryn lay curled up in a bearskin before the fire, sleeping. They had barely had a moment to themselves the last few weeks, and he was glad she had come tonight.

Even if she was asleep.

He knelt beside her, gently brushing a curl aside, intending to carry her to the bed; but she awoke at his slight touch, slightly startled.

Then she smiled.

"Good evening," he murmured. She sat up and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Good evening, my Prince."

"I didn't really expect to see you here tonight. Dawn comes early." There was a question in his voice, if not his words. She motioned to a leather pack and pile of weapons in the corner.

"I came prepared. I want to spend the night here with you. Is it…a bad time? I mean…not a good night? Or…"

He laughed. "Ryn, shhhh. I'm thrilled you're here. I just have a couple of missives to answer before I settle down."

She nodded. "I'll just wait for you." He sat against the headboard, more eager to finish than he had been five minutes ago.

He was nearly done with the last missive when Ryn left the privy and climbed into the other side of the bed, keeping a respectful distance so as not to distract him.

She lasted a minute or two, before he felt her hands comb through his hair idly. His sharp intake of breath had her hesitating.

"Is it okay if I braid your hair?" she whispered. "I can stop if you can't concentrate."

"No!" he answered, maybe too quickly. "No, don't stop. You can try braiding it, but it won't stay."

She smiled. "It's not about whether it stays. You trust me to touch your hair. To _braid _your hair. That's what matters." Her fingers worked deftly through the fine clean strands, separating a section from the rest and beginning a braid.

It was simultaneously relaxing and incredibly sensual, her hands in his hair. Kíli shivered, and hurried to finish his last missive.

She had barely finished tying off his braid with a strip of leather when he put aside his parchment and writing utensils, three neatly folded and sealed letters atop them. He squeezed her hand, then got up and took the letters to the doors of his outer chambers, handing them off to a guard and shutting the door firmly.

He turned and smiled at her as he shut the door to his bedchamber, and she favored him with a tender, wicked one of her own.

He was undone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: And the journey begins! Anything for new readers that is unclear regarding Ryn's identity or any happenings in the last book; feel free to PM me and I'll give you the short and skinny!

Enjoy, everyone, don't forget to review if you are so inclined!

* * *

Dawn found a small group formed up just outside the Great Gate, checking over their shaggy mountain ponies, adjusting saddles and packs, and saying their goodbyes.

In a fit of contrariety, Lady Deorynn was helping her handmaiden with her saddlebags, imparting some wisdom she had learned from her years on the road as a solitary traveler. Prince Kíli was speaking lowly to his royal brother, and Bilbo took the time (for he was ready) to survey their small group.

Of course, there were Kíli, Ryn, and Raela the handmaid—whose presence Bilbo questioned, but then realized that if Ryn could take care of herself, there was no reason the other lass couldn't—as well as Master Gloin. Bilbo had at first been surprised to hear he was coming along, for he seemed quite happy in Erebor, but then he remembered that Gloin's wife, Brydda, and their young son Gimli were in the Blue Mountains. It made sense he would come to fetch them home himself.

The thought of gruff, hairy Gloin tenderly kissing his lovely wife hello was one that made Bilbo's lips curl up in a smile in spite of the early hour.

Their party was rounded out by three other dwarves he was not as familiar with. Telchar, son of Meltar, and his cousin Farin, son of Tarin, were both lieutenants on loan from Dain's halls in the Iron Hills. Dain had been rather insistent that someone from the Iron Hills represent their clan when the guard returned triumphant to Ered Luin, a fact that Bilbo knew rankled the young King Under the Mountain—and for good cause, in his opinion; why, Dain had refused to help them on the quest to retake Erebor, and yet expected to share in the spoils! Bilbo found it shameful behavior that was ill-fitting a king, much less a distant cousin—but Kíli had soothed his brother by selecting Telchar and Farin; both young and relatively open-minded, less arrogant and smug than many of Dain's men. The last member of their guard was Ibón, son of Bhûn, of the Emyn Muil dwarves. Bilbo happened to know, in light of the girl's history with Emyn Muil dwarves, Ryn was horribly nervous about her parentage and past being discussed around _him_; though it would probably come up at some point.

Bilbo wondered if Ibón (or Bhûn) were one of the dwarves that had kicked Ryn's Dwarf mother out of the settlement when she became pregnant by a Man of Rohan all those years ago.

If so, they could be in for a bit of a rough dynamic between those two.

The thought made him scowl, his loyal hobbit heart bristling at the idea of anyone giving Ryn a hard time because of her parentage. It certainly had happened enough in her lifetime—and still _was_ happening, especially now that she and Kíli were engaged to be married—and she didn't need to be dealing with it on the road, as well, where there were plenty of other troubles to be had.

"That disappointed to be leaving us, eh, Master Burglar?" Fíli's teasing voice interrupted his ruminations. Bilbo turned a smile on the lad.

"Of course I'm sad to be leaving you, Your Highness." He didn't miss the way Fíli winced at the title. "Please, Bilbo, we are friends. Call me Fíli."

Bilbo ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Fíli. I will miss you dearly." He wrapped his arms around the dwarf's chest in a brotherly embrace, smiling when Fíli returned the gesture.

"I will miss you too, Bilbo. You simply must come and visit us sometime."

Bilbo blinked hard as he pulled back. "You can count on it. I wouldn't miss the wedding, at the very least." He winked toward Kíli and Ryn, who were conversing softly a few feet away.

Fíli laughed. "Good! We will be most pleased to have you! Safe travels, Master Hobbit, and I hope you find your home and hearth as warm and welcoming as you left it."

It was Bilbo's turn to laugh. "Cold and dusty is the more likely way of it, but it shall be warm and welcoming again soon after I return. And of course, you are always welcome to visit it, as well."

They parted with a firm hug, and then Fíli addressed the entire guard.

"My friends! Thank you for volunteering for this mission. Mahal's blessing be upon you, and may His Hammer protect you from all evil on the way, until you return again safe to these Halls. Keep one another alive and well, and bring home Erebor's princess!"

The guard, as well as the small crowd of well-wishers gathered around, cheered.

Fíli kissed his brother's brow in a King's blessing, then embraced him one last time before Kíli mounted his pony. Kíli led the small Company down the main road out of Erebor, headed south toward Laketown. Bilbo rode just behind him, young Telchar beside him, followed by Ryn and Raela, then the remaining dwarves; cantering out of the city as the King waved goodbye.

* * *

They were heralded again in Dale, rode through the streets with a small crowd cheering them on from the sides of the road and upstairs windows. After a brief greeting from Bard and his family, they rode on. From there, the ride to Laketown was swift, and they reached the small wooden town just before dinnertime. It was still a small place; but under the new leadership of Haresh, son of Marc, and the help of Thranduil, Bard, and Fíli combined, the little town was getting a new chance at life. New men were arriving every day to help rebuild, homes and businesses popping up on the shore of the Lake, and merchants getting word that Esgaroth and Dale were becoming centers of trade again, after the death of the dragon.

Someone had managed to finagle the massive skull of Smaug out of the wreckage of old Laketown, and set it upon a platform outside of town as a memorial to the citizens of Esgaroth that had died that night. Kíli shivered as they rode by it, uncertain how he felt about such a memorial.

But they did not linger in Laketown, instead pressing on west, along the river, until they reached Thranduil's Halls at nightfall. The Elvenking greeted them with considerably more goodwill than he had the last time they entered the forest, feasting and housing them for the night.

It was a cheery evening, despite the discomfort of about half the dwarves—Dain's men as well as Ibón were exceedingly uncomfortable with elves in general, and Gloin still had not forgiven the less than cordial hospitality they had received a few months before.

Ryn, Kíli, and Bilbo, however, all had a grand time. They talked and laughed with Legolas, Tauriel, and the elven princess Nireth, whom Ryn had healed of horrifying dragon fire burns in Laketown, prompting the start of an odd but deep friendship.

The lithe little elf drew Ryn aside later that evening, before everyone retired, and handed her a small book, just large enough to fit comfortably in a pocket.

"Wha…? What's this?" Ryn asked, delighted.

Nireth smiled. "It is a translation book. Orð to Westron. I don't know why, but I felt like you might need it before the end of this journey."

Ryn thumbed through the small, leather-bound journal, Nireth's steady handwriting on each page filling it with words from her ancestral language and what they meant in the common tongue. "You made this?"

Nireth inclined her head. "I did."

It was an incredibly valuable gift, and a personal one too; Ryn hugged her friend tightly.

"I have no idea why I would need this on this mission," she murmured into the elleth's flaxen hair. "But it is a beautiful gift nonetheless, and I thank you for it."

Nireth laughed, the sound one of joy personified. "You are welcome, _mellon nin_. I hope it serves you well."

"It will," Ryn whispered. "If I need it, it will."

* * *

The next day was rather uneventful, as travelling went. The company left at dawn and travelled until sunset, accompanied by an honor guard of the Elvenking's halls—six elves, all warriors fierce, including Legolas and Tauriel—charged with seeing them safely through the Mirkwood. Kíli couldn't pretend, much as he wanted to, that he wasn't glad to have them along. The air of Mirkwood was still oppressive and heavy, and he remembered his last trip through its angry boughs far too well.

Thranduil's dungeons, boring and elf-ridden as they were, had been a welcome relief.

He looked around to be sure his Company were holding up against the foul air of the forest. The elves looked merely wary; either it didn't affect them the way it did him and his people, or they were just adapted to it and knew of ways to handle it. Telchar was alert, his eyes roving about the place as though it might try to swallow him whole.

Kíli knew the feeling.

Farin was wide-eyed, working desperately to control what Kíli guessed was a deep, primal fear. This place had a way of bringing that out of a person. Ibón was more snappish than usual, which, combined with Gloin's rapidly-deteriorating temper, looked like it may cause some trouble soon if they didn't get themselves together.

Bilbo was blinking rapidly, focusing intently on the path before him; while Ryn stared into the distance. He knew that look; she was fighting demons he could not touch, memories and places and experiences he could never share. He remembered how deeply this place had affected her before, and looking back, wondered if there had been anything he should've done differently to help her.

What better way to find out than to try again?

So he rode to catch up with her, startling her out of her reverie. She favored him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and he took her cold hand in his and kissed it gently.

"Can you do something for me?" he asked, knowing he'd get further with her if she thought it was him she was benefitting. Unsurprisingly, her face turned earnest. "Anything."

"Tell me a good memory, from before you left home? Any good memory will do," he gestured vaguely to the forest around them. "Just to get my mind off all this."

Bilbo rode up the few feet to close the gap between them. "Yes, Ryn, do! A happy story would not go amiss in this place."

She got that faraway look again, but this time, she seemed to be searching for something. She must've found it, because a moment later, she grinned.

"Well. There was this one time my little brother Talos and I found an almost-empty inkwell in my mother's desk. I was old enough to know better, though he was not; but Dalos—our mother's husband—was sleeping soundly, and Mother was at the market, and we were bored."

Kíli laughed out loud. How many of his and Fíli's stories started almost exactly that way?

"What did you do?" Bilbo asked, aghast.

"We dipped the ends of his beard in the inkwell, then dyed his eyebrows black. It was especially funny since he had hair as red as Gloin's…"

Their laughter—and that of some of the elves—rang through the forest, seeming to lighten the air, if only slightly.

The rest of the day passed quickly, with Kíli regaling them all of stories that included unsuspecting (and suspecting) adult dwarfs becoming the butt of their many creative pranks; Bilbo sharing stories of his childhood in the Shire, and Farin—the least reserved of the foreign dwarves—telling of life in the Iron Hills. Legolas and Tauriel spoke, too, surprising Kíli with their stories of pranking Thranduil (The Elvenking, of all people!) as children.

They reached the southern offshoot of the Forest River—a slow-moving, lethargic brook with dark water—just before dusk that night. Crossing it took quite a bit of maneuvering, for the water of it was enchanted and would instantly put to sleep anyone who touched it.

Luckily, there were no mishaps, and everyone ended up on the opposite side awake and healthy.

* * *

They set up camp and settled down for the night, with double watches set up. Kíli checked in with his men to be sure everyone was all right, then he and Tauriel watched the sparse starlight that could be seen barely through the thick canopy of trees above their heads. Ryn joined them after a while, but everyone was exhausted and those who were not on watch fell asleep rather quickly.

Ryn awoke a few hours later with a heavy feeling in her chest she recognized. It made her skin bristle, her hair stand on end, and her heart beat faster. She knew this feeling, this instinct; it had saved her life countless times on the road.

Something was wrong. Danger was near.

She reached over and shook Kíli firmly, hissing his name. He awoke instantly.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"I don't know." She squeezed his hand.

There was an unearthly scream she recognized, and then the spiders were coming.

The watch shouted a warning, and Ryn just had time to grab her daggers—her throwing knives still attached to her belt already—before the fastest of the spiders were upon them.

The camp was filled with shouts of dismay and battle cries as Ryn tackled the first spider she saw, ramming her dagger hilt-deep into one of its eyes, then stabbing its ugly maw when it screamed at her. Battle was a blur of motion she'd not yet forgotten; stab, whirl, parry, block, swing, and pivot.

Moments later, she stifled a scream of surprise as one of the spiders got its bristly leg around her waist.

"Kíli!"

But Farin was there; his battleaxes swinging in a lethal arc that chopped the thing's head clean off. Ryn barely had time to call thanks to him before she was spinning again, taking out eyes and legs with sharp, long daggers.

She heard a shout beside her, and Bilbo's curly head entered her periphery, his sword piercing the spider's exoskeleton with a nasty crunch. She pulled him out of the way of the creature's death throes, slapping his back encouragingly before jumping into the tree beside them and scurrying up.

Above the battle, she could see better who needed help. The elves were graceful, the dwarves fierce; each one giving the spiders more trouble than Ryn figured they were used to seeing from their prey. A grim smile graced her face as Kíli disemboweled one of them in three efficient strokes. One of her throwing knives found an eye of another, and she leapt from the tree onto the back of one harrowing Gloin just below her branch, stabbing it in the skull with her knives.

Within minutes, it was over.

"Everyone all right?" Kíli called, panting. A quick once over showed Ryn that everyone was there, and only a little worse for wear.

The elves were barely breathing hard.

Bilbo was wiping Sting off a few feet away; Ryn walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. The poor hobbit was trembling.

"Just like old times, eh?" he joked tightly.

She smiled. "Indeed it is. And not three days out of Erebor, even. Are you all right?"

"Of course. Just the adrenaline, is all it is."

Ryn patted his back. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll be over with Kíli."

He winked at her, the cheeky bastard. "Yes, you go make sure your man made it out of that in one piece."

She stuck her tongue out at him—because she wasn't a princess _yet_—and bounced off the other direction.

Kíli was fine, of course, and he checked her over cursorily, without too much fuss, which she appreciated.

It took a long time, though, for everyone to settle back down—Telchar never did—and the rest of the night's slumber was fitful and restless for all of them, full of dark dangers and nameless fears. They welcomed the dawn, hazy and dim as it was in this forest, with relief.

The quest to Ered Luin had well and truly begun.

* * *

They left the Mirkwood at the end of that afternoon, and the elves stayed with them one more night, just on the borders of their territory. With fond farewells all around—even Gloin and Ibón were more friendly than they'd been the previous couple of days—the elves departed to their own halls, and Kíli's company pressed forward, headed west.

Ryn smiled with anticipation—she knew where they would next stop.

And she was not disappointed. It was mere hours on horseback, before they heard a loud, horrifying roar somewhere behind them and to their left. Telchar and Farin were immediately on alert, though Ryn shared a somewhat secret smile with Kíli.

The roar came again, closer this time.

"Run!" Telchar shouted, pulling his steed back to urge Raela in front of him.

Ryn found herself running along near the back of the group, not really frightened. As horrific as the roaring sounded, she knew Beorn would never hurt her or her friends.

Still, no need to tempt the Bear.

So they raced to Beorn's house and ended up entering much the same way they had the first time, with a giant roaring Bear on their heels, breathing hard and hearts pounding. Ryn couldn't help but giggle—from both nerves and genuine amusement—when they bolted the heavy wooden door to the sound of scuffling and bear sounds outside.

It wasn't a few seconds before Bilbo joined her, then Kíli, laughing heartily. Even Gloin chuckled behind his beard.

Telchar, Farin, Raela, and Ibón looked at them as though they'd lost their minds, which only made Ryn laugh harder. She bent over, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard, her belly sore.

When they finally gathered their composure, Kíli addressed the newer members of their party. "Sorry, it's just…we've been here, done this before." When they continued to stare, completely confused, he clarified, "that is exactly the manner in which we entered Beorn's home the first time—on our way to Erebor not six months ago."

Raela and Farin relaxed, smiling as they made the connection; though Telchar and Ibón still weren't amused. Ibón sniffed. "Yes well, it's hardly funny. We could've been killed!"

Ryn snorted. "No, Master Ibón, Beorn will not kill us. He saved us all at the Battle of Five Armies; and anyway, Skinchangers don't kill Eiri."

Ibón stared hard at the girl, unimpressed. "Is that so?"

She nodded, but didn't engage his challenge, choosing instead to dump her gear in a corner filled with straw.

She had just settled down to relax a bit, talking softly to Raela, when there was a thumping on the door—very much Man and not Bear this time. Ryn dashed to the door and pulled it open with a grin, throwing herself at the giant hairy man who stood on the threshold.

"Beorn!"

He chuckled, his deep, chesty laugh vibrating through her cheek. "By the Valar, Lady Deorynn, you certainly seem happy to see me."

"I am! I never got to thank you properly after the battle; there was so much to be done…"

Kíli had joined her and bowed deeply to the Bear-Man. "Nor did I, good sir. You saved my life, Ryn tells me, though I was hardly in a position to remember. You have my most sincere thanks, and certainly I owe you a blood debt."

Beorn laid his hand on the young prince's shoulder. "Hardly, lad. I was happy to help. Even if it was dwarves." A grin crinkled the skin around his eyes. "You should have seen this lady here, no orc could get within five hundred paces of her, she was stealing so much energy from her surroundings that they were killed instantly."

He looked proud, though Ryn looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Beorn…"

"I was lucky to be friend and not foe in that moment, I tell you, or I'd not be standing here, and that's a fact."

Kíli squeezed Ryn's shoulder, muttering in her ear, "You didn't tell me that."

She ducked her head. "I didn't want you to know. It's not the kind of thing you brag about at the dinner table."

But Beorn was still talking, greeting Gloin and Bilbo, getting introduced to the others, and setting up food for dinner. It was cold fare—cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and preserved meats—but delicious, and Beorn promised something hot for breakfast.

"For tonight, though," he growled menacingly, "I have a pack of orcs to see to."

"Need any help?" Ryn grinned wickedly. Beorn laughed. "No, my lady, I can handle it, thank you. You should all take your rest; enjoy a soft bed beneath your backs, for you have a long journey ahead of you."

"That we do," Gloin agreed.

* * *

Ryn found Kíli a couple of hours later, in the back chamber where she had first agreed to give a real effort to a relationship between the two of them. She smiled when she saw him standing beside the window, as he had that warm day in late August when she sought him out.

He knew what he was doing, too; he turned to meet her eyes and smiled wickedly.

"Hello, _idúzhib_," he whispered.

She shut the door behind her. "Kíli."

He was in front of her in two steps, smiling as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and fingered one of the braids, woven with tooled leather instead of mithril and diamonds while they travelled.

"You remember," she whispered. It wasn't a question.

He pressed his lips to hers in response, the kind of kiss that asked for more. She giggled into his mouth, tickling his neck teasingly with her fingers. He scrunched his shoulders and pulled back, laughing.

"Ryn, what?"

She hugged him. "We can't do anything like that on this trip, my love. That's why Raela is here—she could walk in at any moment, and if she found us doing anything more than kissing, there would be hell to pay." Her eyes turned troubled. "Gossip is one thing, and you know I'm more than happy to fly in the face of so-called 'propriety,' but that kind of thing could get us in _real_ trouble, and I don't want to ruin..." she gestured to the two of them, "...this."

Kíli nuzzled her nose, smiling. "You couldn't. But I promise to behave. At least for now."

She settled into his arms as they sat down by the window, watching the snow fall softly outside. "Will it be a storm, do you think?" she asked. Kíli shook his head. "Maybe an inch or two before it moves on."

"Mmmm. Hey, Kíli?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think there are other Eiri descendants out there?"

Kíli paused, thoughtful. "Well…perhaps. It would make sense for there to be. Why?"

She pulled the leather-bound book from her armor. "Because Nireth made me this and said she had a feeling I might need it on this journey." Kíli flipped through it lazily, impressed by the workmanship. Ryn continued, "But I don't know. Why would I need an Orð-Westron translation book?"

Kíli was mystified. "I don't know either. But all will be revealed in time; for now, just enjoy it as a lovely gift. And it _is_ a lovely gift."

That drew a smile from her. "Yes. It is. A lot of people are giving me lovely gifts these days." She fingered the braids woven with leather—Kíli's crest tooled decoratively into the tanned strip, as well as her own personal mark.

Kíli smiled and nuzzled her sweet-smelling hair, and they fell into a comfortable, tender silence.

* * *

_He wandered far and wide, through the deepest and highest places of Arda; watching his work with satisfaction at times, cursing his failure at others. Deceit, pain, betrayal, and hatred were alive and well in many of the beings of Middle Earth, thanks to his lackeys and slaves; but triumph and joy and kindness abounded, too. He growled; he would swiftly bring the day when none of those things existed anymore. But he had some setbacks to deal with first: the whole fiasco with the dragon and the orc army had been rather embarrassing—he hadn't expected to lose that battle. It had also been quite the blow to his bigger plan._

_But now, something very interesting had happened._

_Two wandered together, both strong spirits, full of light and love and everything he despised. But they both had weaknesses they were unaware of; weaknesses he would happily exploit._

_Morgul poison. The Blood of the Healers._

_It was time to enlist the help of his Servant._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: This is going to be an exciting chapter! There's a special cameo for you all in here, hope you enjoy it!

All ideas for the mithril magic were inspired heavily by **summerald's** work in her _Erebor_, _3022_ series. If you haven't read it, you really _really_ should; the writing is fantastic, the characters wonderful, and the lore simply phenomenal. She's given me permission to work off much of her legend, so giant thanks to her for that! And seriously, go read her stories!

* * *

Fíli found himself wandering the halls of Erebor yet again that night, rather than sleeping like he ought. He needed his rest and he knew it—he could feel it in his bones—but he was wound so tight and nothing he did could relieve it. He'd tried reading, sparring, exercise…all of it simply exhausted him without allowing him to sleep.

He missed his brother. In Ered Luin, and on the quest (and several times since), he could always go wrap Kee up in his embrace, when things got just too overwhelming, and it would help him sleep. The knowledge that his brother was safe and close and loved him, combined with the sound of a steady heartbeat in his ears, had always soothed away the worst of the stress and helped him sleep.

Now, of course, he had to break himself of that somehow; what with Kee being gone, and then being married.

His lips quirked up in a smile at the mental image of him crawling into Kee's bed with Ryn in it. Kindhearted as she was, he doubted she'd be thrilled about that, plus it would be highly improper. Not to mention awkward, should they be in the middle of something.

No. He needed to find another method of stress relief that did not involve hugging his brother.

So he wandered the halls. It hadn't proven extraordinarily helpful for him yet, as far as sleeping, but he had discovered some fascinating things during his exploration.

Just last night he'd found a room full of rubies. An entire chamber of _just_ rubies. They were of all shapes and sizes, too, fist-sized gems down to tiny delicate ones. The stones had been duly divided between the five massive storage chambers for Erebor's wealth, as dictated by the plan Gandalf and he had developed for staving off the gold sickness; and Fíli would not see them again unless they were to be used as payment, given as a gift, or commissioned for a piece of jewelry or art.

Which was more than fine by him.

Tonight, he was in a completely different side of the mountain—the North Quarter, they called it. Much of this area seemed to have been left relatively alone by Smaug; the walls were still scorched, but there was less rubble and the doors remained. There had also been more bodies here, Fíli remembered being told, though they had been cleared by now and given the proper burial ceremonies deep in the catacombs below his feet.

Sighing, he tried one of the doors at the end of the hallway. It was one marked by the rune for 'locked' that the workers had placed there earlier when they'd gone through, combing the halls and chambers for debris or bodies to clean up. Any locked doors were marked and then a locksmith came through a few days later to address them.

He vaguely wondered why he was bothering.

But when he touched the shiny handle, his fingers tingled and a jolt shot up his arm, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. He drew his hand back as if burned.

_What was that?_

Carefully, hesitantly, he reached out again. Perhaps it had just been a static charge….but no, it shocked him again, though the feeling was less painful than before. He looked at the handle under his fingers; round, polished silver gleaming in the…

Wait, no. It wasn't silver. It was too dense, too white to be silver.

_Mithril._

He blinked, whispered tales of the mithril rooms of Erebor coming to his mind, tales his Uncle had told him and Kee at bedtimes growing up, entire rooms filled with mithril magic that only the Sons of Durin could access and utilize.

But they were _legends_.

Slowly, Fíli turned the handle and pushed open the door. He gasped softly when it swung open.

Veins of mithril shot through the walls and floor, natural and jagged and beautiful. There was no furniture in the chamber at all, save a tall rod leaned against the far corner of the chamber. The floor caught his attention when he saw the veins of mithril had converged there, forming a perfect circle with rough Khuzdul runes running along the outside of it.

Those were not carved there, he realized. The tendrils of mithril running through the rock had formed the runes on their own. Or more accurately, they had been sung into the rock thousands of years ago by his ancestors, when they first settled the Lonely Mountain and Durin himself had lived here.

_Legend, indeed._

He stepped into the room, gasping when the mithril responded. It vibrated in the air, sang in his bones, drew out goose pimples from his flesh. The room was ready for him, though he had no idea what it did.

"I should get Balin," he found himself whispering to thin air.

* * *

The guard left Beorn's the next morning, with fond farewells to both the Bear-Man and his animals, and headed due south. Their course led them to the Old Ford to cross the Anduin, into the Elven Pass that would spit them out of the Misty Mountains practically on Rivendell's doorstep.

Perhaps if they'd known, Kíli thought, what awaited them over the High Pass on their way to Erebor, they may have taken the Elven Pass and avoided Goblin Town altogether.

The journey from Beorn's to Rivendell took seven full days, during which time their small company fell into a bit of a routine. Ryn had gifted Raela with a dagger and spent a few hours each day teaching her to use it. The proper and strict lassie objected at first, but after their first run-in with a small orc pack just the western side of the Anduin, she was more than happy to learn.

Telchar and Farin had relaxed considerably since they left Erebor, realizing that Kíli was a very different kind of noble than they were used to; and his initial assessment they would be excellent companions was bearing more true every day. Gloin grew happier each mile they covered, each league that brought him closer to his wife and son; a sentiment that Bilbo shared heartily, speaking often and fondly of his books and his home at Bag-End.

Ibón was a harder nut to crack, but even he was beginning to relax. That is, until one night, Farin asked Ryn why no hair graced her jawline—the only outward sign that she wasn't full dwarf. Kíli intervened, trying to change the subject, but Ibón sharply asked the same thing.

She placed a hand on his forearm quietly; signaling that it was all right with her if this was discussed.

"I'll have to face it eventually," she murmured quietly to him. Turning to the waiting Ibón, she looked him straight in eye and answered, "There is no hair on my jaw because human women don't have beards, and it's a trait I evidently inherited from my father's blood."

Ibón blinked, but Farin blurted, "Your father was human?"

"That's right."

"And…your mother dwarf?"

She smiled. "Correct again."

Telchar rose slowly. "I'd heard the rumors, but…" he trailed off, obviously unsure what to say. Ryn laughed at his discomfort. "Yes, they are true. It's okay to be surprised."

Ibón looked livid. "What makes you think you….you have any right…?"

"To what, Master Dwarf?" she asked coolly, Kíli tensing beside her. "What makes me think I have any right to…_exist_? To be _here_? To be with a Prince of Durin?"

The older dwarf blinked, seeming to realize Kíli was there. He backed down immediately. "No, my Lady, I apologize."

Everyone sat uncomfortably for a moment, until Farin broke the silence. "Well, I think it hardly matters. You've long since proven your own courage and worth, so what does it matter who your father was?"

Ryn smiled, and Kíli spoke up at last. "That's what _I_ always thought."

Everyone chuckled but Ibón.

"Indeed," he muttered darkly.

* * *

"Mama!" Anora called as she pranced into the family chambers. "Mama, Sêla and I were just with Lady Dis, and she says…"

She stopped at the sight of a visitor sitting in the common room—a _pest_, more like. She tried not to scowl—Sêla was the one who was good at propriety, not her—at the sight of Karfac's thin, sallow face looking her over.

"Are you certain you won't reconsider, Tefur?" he asked in his oily voice. Anora's father shook his head firmly.

"I'm sorry, Karfac, we are going with the caravan to Erebor. I'm not willing to have my daughter so far away, and it is my right to terminate the courtship before any promises have been made. We will, of course, return all of your courting beads and gifts. Anora?"

She nodded once and headed to her room to gather the proffered items. She removed Karfac's courting beads from her hair first, glad beyond reckoning to be rid of them.

As the eldest daughter of a wealthy merchant originally from the Iron Hills, Anora was of course expected to marry whomever her father dictated; though both Anora and Sêla had hoped, as children, they might be blessed by Mahal with a match that was both beneficial in their father's eyes and full of love in theirs. Unfortunately, as they became older, Anora became aware of how unlikely that was; even if Sêla still held tightly to the belief that eventually they would both end up with their Ones.

However, faith or no faith, Anora was not one to lie down and just accept reality without challenging it.

So when her father had presented her to Karfac as a potential match, her protestations had been many and passionate. The older dwarf was the son of a lesser Lord in the Iron Hills—sniveling, manipulative, and used to complete obedience in lassies. He was a merchant in name, but lived mostly out of his inheritance. Anora found him repulsive for all these reasons and more—she'd caught him leering at Sêla more than once, not to mention the looks he gave _her_. In the end, it had not mattered—her father had final say, of course—but she had fought, at least.

She had also made damn sure Karfac saw her fiery spirit—'stubbornness', he called it—in hopes to push him away; though she had recently begun to suspect he just intended to wear her down once they were married.

The news that the caravan to Erebor was leaving, and her father's subsequent assertion that they were all going, had been the happiest news the lass had received in her life, for more than one reason. It meant no more Karfac, it meant living in Erebor, and it meant being near her two best friends. True, the King and Prince would be far too busy for their relationships to be what they used to, before the quest; but at least she would be close to them, know they were safe and happy.

And maybe Thorin's (and subsequently, she hoped, Fíli's) less political views regarding marriage—namely, that politics had no place in the decision of _whom_ to marry—would rub off on her father in Erebor.

Maybe Sêla was right, after all. Maybe they both _would_ someday find their Ones.

* * *

_The first stages of his plan were nearly complete. He had the Weapon—untraceable—the Time, now all he had to do was get the King into the Place…_

"_Soon," he murmured to himself. _

_Soon his family would be avenged, his parents' death no longer meaningless, and his pain assuaged._

* * *

Rivendell was as lovely as Ryn remembered.

Lord Elrond had been expecting them, thanks to a courier sent ahead by Kíli before they left Erebor; and there were rooms, baths, and a feast awaiting them when they arrived, sore and exhausted, late on the night of the seventh day since leaving Beorn's.

Ryn barely had the energy to bathe before collapsing on the soft bed and falling asleep instantly.

The next day, however, she made time to visit someone she'd been wanting to see for months, and asking a question that had been eating at her for nearly that long.

"Cirryn!" Ryn shouted happily, running to the elf that had been her primary healer the first time she was here, after having been tortured by Azog's orcs. The elleth's liquid blue eyes found hers, and a smile split her fair face, lighting her up so she seemed to glow from within. Ryn threw her arms around the woman's torso and squeezed tight.

"I am so happy to see you, _gornil_," Cirryn murmured. "I heard of your many exploits, and your hardships, along the road to Erebor and after. How are you?"

Ryn laughed. "I am very well, thank you. I found my place among them, as you promised I would."

The healer grinned, touching Ryn's courtship braids gently. "I hear you found love, as well." She laughed softly at the dwarf lass's blush. "You deserve it, Miriel. Congratulations."

"Thank you. Cirryn, I have a question."

"Please, ask it."

"You knew, didn't you?" Ryn fixed Cirryn with her gaze, needing to know the answer. "You knew I had Eiri blood."

Cirryn nodded. "I did."

"Why…_why_ did you not tell me?"

"Ah," Cirryn averted her gaze—the first time Ryn had ever seen an elf look anything but self-assured. "I wanted to, but Lord Elrond thought you were not ready to know yet."

"Not…ready?" Anger shot through her veins, hot and fast. "Not _ready_? Cirryn, do you realize if Beorn hadn't told me, I would never have known…and Fíli and Kíli would both be dead! Thranduil and his people would still suffer from the dragon burns, and I…I would never have _known_." She blinked furiously.

"I would have told you," Cirryn said quietly. "I would have told you as soon as I could."

Ryn wanted to retort back, but paused. Was it really worth fighting with one of her first friends? "Can I just ask why Lord Elrond thought I wasn't ready?"

Cirryn gave her a tight smile. "He has the gift of Foresight. I think he knew you would find out just when you needed to. But I dropped you some hints—remember, I taught you everything I could in the short time you were here? And my knowledge of your advanced healing was why I was so willing to let you use your weapons again so soon after being—ah, Estel, there you are. Lord Elrond was asking after you a little while ago."

Ryn turned to regard the new party, and was surprised she had to look down to see him. It was a little boy, a human boy, with cheerful gray eyes and a shock of dark hair atop his head. He was holding a little bundle of athelas out to Cirryn and smiling. "I was out with Mister Elrohir and Mister Elladan! We walked all around outside the city, Cirryn, and saw deer and rabbits and fish!" The boy stopped when he realized there was another person listening in. His eyes clouded with confusion.

"Are you a child too?"

Ryn couldn't help it; she threw back her head and laughed heartily. "Do I look like a child to you, little one?"

"No. You look like a chunky lady; except you're too short."

"Estel!" Cirryn gasped in horror, while Ryn doubled over laughing. "I am sorry, Miriel, he is so young he forgets his manners…"

"No!" Ryn laughed. "No offense taken. If he spends any time here at all, he's used to elves—and Eru knows you're all slimmer than I am, so it makes sense." She addressed the lad. "Chunky I may be, young sir, but I assure you I'm in very good shape."

The boy looked slightly abashed. "I didn't mean you were fat or lazy, my lady. I am sorry."

"You are quite forgiven, for I knew what you meant." She bowed to him; hand on her heart in a gesture of respect and greeting. "I am Deorynn, though my friends call me Ryn and the elves call me Miriel."

The boy bowed deeply. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, though the elves call me Estel. So can I call you Ryn? I like that name."

She smiled. "You may. What do you prefer I call you?"

He furrowed his brow in thought. "Only the elves call me Estel. I'd like it if you called me Aragorn."

"Very well then. Tell me, Aragorn, how old are you?"

"I am ten winters! But I'm almost eleven; my Name Day is in four weeks and two days!"

"Congratulations! And since I will not be here to celebrate it with you; I wish you a very happy Name Day."

His gray eyes grew solemn. "When are you leaving? Are you on a great quest?"

Ryn bit back another grin. "A very great quest indeed. We are on our way to escort a princess back to her kingdom."

"A princess?" Aragorn's eyes were impossibly round with excitement. Then he looked Ryn over appraisingly. "Is she a dwarf princess?"

"She is."

"Wow," he breathed. "Hey, do you want to see my sword? Master Elrond got it for me when I turned ten last year. He says it's so I can learn to fight like my ancestors and make them proud!" The boy chattered on, pulling Ryn away by the hand, and she allowed it, smiling at Cirryn as she left the room.

Ryn spent the rest of the afternoon with young Aragorn; learning all about his sword, his pony, his classes, and his favorite ways to spend his free time—romping outside the city in the wild parts of the valley that were still safe, and finding new ways to make Master Elrond's face twist up into that expression that, according to Aragorn, "looks so funny because he's frowning but also trying so hard not to smile."

Apparently that expression was the gauge of a prank well-pulled, in Aragorn's ten years of experience.

Ryn thoroughly enjoyed spending time with the youngster, so much so that by the time Kíli found her for dinner, she was quite charmed. She invited him to eat with them, and noted Elrond's grin of amusement when the child sat beside her at supper.

"I must apologize, Lady Miriel, it is not often Estel likes new people; but when he does, he is a fast and loyal friend."

The boy beamed at the praise.

"It is no trouble at all, my Lord, he is wonderful company," Ryn responded, supremely amused at how Aragorn's chest puffed out the tiniest bit.

Across from her, Kíli wasn't having as much luck hiding his amusement as he choked on his wine when he snorted into his cup. Ryn cocked her eyebrow at him as he caught his breath, though Aragorn looked concerned.

"Lady Ryn, is he all right?"

"He's just fine, young one. He simply sucked his wine down the wrong side of his gullet, is all."

Aragorn giggled. "Gullet? Is that even a word?"

Kíli and Bilbo both guffawed at that, not bothering to hide their amusement anymore. Ryn chuckled. "It certainly is a word! It means throat, you know, the pipe that goes down to your tummy?" As she said the words, she tickled down the boy's chest to his belly, her dancing fingers drawing a childish laugh from his lips.

Kíli watched her with the boy, unable to hide the ridiculous smile that came to his face as he suddenly imagined her with children of a slightly different kind: little raven-haired lads and green-eyed lassies, squealing their laughter and calling for their mama as he spun them around or tickled their ribs. The image provoked a powerful feeling he couldn't identify—part thrill, part joy, part possessive warmth. He could do nothing in the face of such emotion, just sat there in awe, grinning like an idiot.

Ryn looked up, and her smile told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.

* * *

Frâr was going over the shift schedule for the King's Guard when his second-in-command, Kerif, approached him. The lad was inexperienced and untested, but had promising talent with a longsword, and thrived in a military environment; Frâr himself had brought him to Erebor after the Battle of Five Armies, hoping to give the lad a good start to his career.

"You sent for me, sir?" Kerif saluted sharply.

"Yes, lad, please sit."

Kerif sat stiffly, smoothing his braided beard in a nervous gesture that made the Captain of the Guard nearly smile. He had known Kerif for a long time, since he was just a young page who had lost his family in the Winter Sickness; he'd unofficially adopted the lad as a brother after that tragic season, taken him under his wing and provided him with both training and opportunity for advancement whenever he could.

"I just wanted to see how you're settling in," he began. "Are you happy here?"

Kerif smiled. "Yes, sir! It's quite different from the Hills, don't you think?"

Frâr chuckled. "That it is, Kerif. That it is."

The candle burned down low as they sat and talked, the way brothers are wont to do, late into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

* * *

Ryn sat on her soft bed in her borrowed chambers at Rivendell, eyes closed, reaching deep inside for her magic. It was rather late at night, and Raela slept deeply in the front room of Ryn's chambers—she had been amused to note that the lass was unaware how strong elvish wine was. She'd had two cups too many and barely made it back to her mistress's chambers, with Ryn's help, before collapsing on the front room sofa, snoring deeply. Ryn felt bad leaving her there, but the handmaid looked comfortable enough, especially once she tucked a blanket around her and pushed a pillow gently beneath her head.

But the healer couldn't sleep, a nagging sense that she needed to work harder at her magic too bothersome to allow her to rest. So she practiced, digging deep for the power Galaron swore she possessed.

Nothing happened for nearly an hour, and she was about to give up when she broke through and gasped as the surge of power swamped her. It was hot and overwhelming, and she opened her eyes with some effort to see scarlet sparks intertwining with her white magic.

She smiled; though it quickly turned to a grimace as the power kept flowing and she had nowhere to focus it. Panicking, she sent the tendrils and sparks shooting to the potted plant beside her window; the plant shuddered and grew to three times its already-ample size within a minute. Releasing the magic forcefully, Ryn gasped and sat back against the pillows. She was drained, and her heart was beating a wild tattoo in her chest.

"Well, that was impressive," a familiar voice murmured from the shadows, causing her to jump.

"Kíli!" she hissed as he emerged, chuckling at her alarm. She spluttered her displeasure, and he covered her mouth gently with his hand.

"Shh, my love, I'm sorry I startled you…"

She yanked his hand away. "A fine apology, to be sure, but is that what you would've told my gravestone when I died of a heart attack? Because honestly, I had just finished—"

He cut her off with his lips, effectively shushing her protestations as she hummed into his mouth, unable to maintain her miffed charade when confronted with his affection. They hadn't had more than chaste, public kisses since Beorn's; and Ryn wasn't about to interrupt the first real kiss she'd shared with him in over a week, just to lecture Kíli about sneaking up on her.

"How did you even….get in here?" she whispered haltingly as he moved his lips to her neck, sucking and nipping gently in all the right ways. "Raela is sleeping in the front room…"

"Mmmm…your window has a trellis below it, did you know?"

"I had no idea…" Ryn gasped. She quieted then, just allowing her lips and hands to rove where they would, pouring every bit of love for her intended into every movement, until she found herself beneath him and realized she had no intention of letting him leave her room for a good while, handmaiden or no.

He did try to pull away, to his credit, lifting himself onto his forearms and knees, pulling his chest away from hers. She missed his weight immediately and shivered. He was breathing hard to keep himself under control.

"I should go," he whispered. "I just wanted a moment with you. But Raela is just through that door, and we wouldn't want to—"

"—You'll just have to be very quiet then, won't you?" she whispered in his ear, propping herself up and nipping it. He shuddered.

"Ryn…"

"Mmmm?"

He bit his lip and muttered under his breath as she ran her fingers down his spine.

"What was that, dear?"

He kissed her again, coming back to her. "I said, you're the screamer, not me."

Ryn grinned at him wickedly.

* * *

The Dark One hissed in his Servant's mind when he found him.

_Fjallstadr, just as you promised. Well done, Trusted One. I have a task for you._

Eyes so icy blue they were nearly translucent opened slowly. Thin lips curled up in a pantomime of a smile, showing straight white teeth.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"I have found you a fellow," the Dark One said, "she travels with Another that I can bend to my will. But I will deal with him; I need you to turn the female."

"What must I do?"

"They will come your way soon; my spies have heard their plans. There will be a great caravan of dwarves crossing the Gap of Rohan in a matter of weeks. She will be with them."

"My Lord, what of the Great Wizard in Isengard? He will kill me if I step out of bounds again."

The Dark One seemed to laugh in the slender man's ears. "Saruman grows more blind by the day. Turning an Istari to my cause will be one of the greatest victories of this Age. For now, know that Saruman is no threat to your movements. If you wish, wait until they reach Emyn Muil. Hate is strong there; you will not be detected until it is too late."

"Yes, Master."

"Fárbjóðr, my Foremost, my Strongest; fear not. We will overcome our recent defeats and rise again, more dangerous than ever before." A growl. "The Line of Durin will be ours soon enough, and once we have Erebor, combined with you and your Fellow Eiri; we will be unstoppable."

Fárbjóðr smiled.

"Yes, my Lord."

* * *

"You should've seen his face, Sêla, it was highly satisfying to see father send him off with his tail between his legs!" Anora laughed softly, brushing her sister's soft curls back and beginning a four-strand braid.

Sêla grinned at her through the mirror. "I can imagine, sister. I'm glad you got rid of those revolting beads, too."

"Ha! First thing that went back to him, I assure you."

"Good." Sêla sat patiently until Anora finished the thick braid, winding it in a crown about her head and pinning it in place. Then she stood and embraced her sister tightly. "I am so glad you're rid of him, 'Nora. He didn't deserve you. Probably couldn't have if he'd tried, which he never did either."

Anora squeezed her sister's shoulders. "No, he was far too busy ogling and being a greasy git. Come on, father will have a fit if we're late for dinner."

The girls walked into the family dining room together, smiling sheepishly at their parents, who were already seated and awaiting them. After they sat, Father gave his blessing, they washed in the ceremonial bowl that was passed around the table, and then everyone began eating.

Sêla couldn't help but smile at how much more relaxed everyone seemed, thinking perhaps she hadn't realized just how tense Karfac's courtship of Anora had made everyone.

Well. It was no matter, it was over now, thank Mahal. Now they could go back to just being a family and enjoying one another's company, without political maneuvering and sallow, rude dwarf men intruding on their privacy.

Father looked at Anora proudly. "Daughter, I am glad you have taken the breaking of your courtship so well. It shows great strength of character to be able to accept reality and move on without undue emotional upheaval."

Anora's lips twitched, but she maintained a polite smile. "Thank you, Father."

He nodded. "It is a characteristic that will serve you well as Queen."

Sêla paused with a chunk of bread halfway to her mouth.

_Queen? _

What was Father on about?

Unlike Sêla, Anora had no qualms about asking questions, even (perhaps especially) if they were improper or impulsive. "Queen?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

Tefur smiled at his wife, and then his eldest. Sêla tried to ignore the flash of hurt.

"We didn't _just_ send Karfac packing because we're going to Erebor, _mizim_," he said gently. "There is a much better match awaiting you in Erebor. One you'll be much happier with, as well, I am sure."

Anora's eyes widened and sought out her sister. Sêla's heart was pounding in her ears, and she was having trouble breathing suddenly.

"But-but Father, uh….Kíli is engaged to be married already," Anora said with an odd little laugh.

"Kíli?" Tefur snorted. "I do not mean Kíli, though he would've doubtless made a good match for Sêla, had another lass not beat her to him…but no, I mean Fíli, the King Under the Mountain."

Anora was frozen, uncharacteristically quiet and wide-eyed. Sêla couldn't think straight; what cruel twist of fate was this?

But her father was still talking. "We—your mother and I, that is—had hoped for a match between you two for years, you know. But you had only just come of age when they left on that hare-brained quest of theirs, and there was no guarantee they'd ever come back. After a year, we gave up and allowed you to be pursued by another. But of course, now…it has clearly paid off for them, and we are hoping your years of friendship with Durin's sons will pay off for us. All of us," he gave another nod to their mother.

_You knew from the beginning, Sêla, you knew this would never work…you knew it would never happen…_

Anora was nodding faintly. "Th—thank you, Father."

Sêla barely made it through the rest of dinner calmly; keeping her eyes fixed on her plate except when spoken to; which for the first time in her life, she was grateful was not often. No, tonight the focus was on Anora, the golden child, the eldest who would bring greatest honor to her family by marrying arguably the most powerful dwarf in all the Seven Kingdoms.

The dwarf Sêla herself had fallen in love with when he was a nobody. Nothing but a young dwarfling growing up in Thorin's Halls in Ered Luin, learning to spar with two stout swords and running protectively after his younger brother when their pranks went wrong and Kíli (or Anora) got reckless.

And she'd nearly always been there by his side, her sweet smile and gentle disposition pleading excuses and reasoning that made the punishments less severe for the young troublemakers. Fíli had always called her his _azinl__á__z_, his "angel", sent from Mahal to get him out of trouble.

She still couldn't place exactly when pleasure at his acceptance had turned into desire for his love.

But it had certainly been well before the Quest that sent him halfway across Middle Earth without her. The months of no news, no word, and only vague rumors of a dark power in the north and to the east had driven her nearly spare; she and Lady Dis had grown quite close during that time, fear and a mutual desire for comfort forging a friendship that didn't care much about the difference in age they shared.

And then—joy of all joys!—the couriers had come, with real news of the Battle of Five Armies, and the victory of the Sons of Durin over the forces of evil! Fíli and Kíli had survived, and her hope sparked again, despite everything her logic told her could not be.

Fíli would never be hers. He was King. She was the youngest daughter of a merchant.

She had accepted it. Until her father spoke of Anora being matched with him.

Now she would be expected to live her entire life pretending to be happy for them—her _sister_ happily married to the One she loved, and Queen to boot!

Sêla's stomach turned at the thought. Not her _namad_, her best friend in the entire world; she did not want such a wedge between them.

Though perhaps it was better this way, she thought glumly. At least with Anora, she would know Fíli was well-loved and cared for. Fíli would accept Anora as a potential mate, Sêla had no doubt. There was enough fondness and history there for her sister to have a huge leg-up on any other lass itching to call herself Queen of Erebor. They would learn to be so happy together, and it wouldn't be long before Anora would give him little ones; little sister-sons and sister-daughters for Sêla to love and spoil, like any _amadnamad_ should.

Her stomach turned again.

"Excuse me, please," she murmured to her father, leaving the table with her head held high.

She barely made it to the privy before she lost her supper.

* * *

As much experience as Kíli was recently getting dealing with Elves, and as much as he now realized they weren't at all evil or cruel (generally), he was glad to see Rivendell fade into the distance the next morning. Lord Elrond had sent them off with plenty of provisions to make it to Bree—for which Kíli was most definitely grateful—including foodstuffs, grain for the ponies (as the spring grass was still new and sparse in Mid-February), and enough medicines to make Ryn very happy.

Now they were headed steadily west on the Great East Road, a course that would lead them through Bree, Buckland, and the Shire—where Bilbo would part with them for his little hobbit-hole at Bag-End—then across the River Lune into Duillond, the first city in Ered Luin.

He smiled. Less than two weeks, now. He could not _wait_ to see everyone.

He decided then to send a courier from Bree, let everyone know how close they were. Reaching Bree, honestly, would be the last time they were in any real danger on this leg of the trip—Buckland, the Shire, and most of Ered Luin were quite tame and well-guarded.

But the Forsaken Lands between Rivendell and Bree…they had to stay more than alert for the next eight days.

And so they were. The next five days passed without incident, save a rather loud argument between Gloin and Ibón about whether Raela ought to be allowed to hunt for dinner. Ryn just waited until the were well and truly into their shouting match before leading the lass off with a wink at Kíli, into the surrounding forest to find some hares or squirrels.

Kíli laughed.

"She sure is a cheeky thing, isn't she?" Farin was grinning as he came to stand beside Kíli.

"She is," he answered. "She was on her own for a long time and isn't…accustomed to waiting for permission to do anything."

Farin cocked his head. "Does it make things troublesome between you two?"

He shrugged. "Once in a while we argue about it. But I don't feel the need to control everything she does—her independence is one of the things I love about her—and she is learning to come to me for decisions we ought to make together. So we work it out."

"A rather mature way of looking at things," Telchar cut in. "Perhaps more so than many older dwarves, even." He shot a glare at Gloin and Ibón, who had quit fighting when it became obvious the lassies were already gone, and now sat facing away from one another grumpily, readying themselves to settle in for the evening.

"Ain't nothin' admirable about a cheeky woman," Ibón cut in sharply. "Someone gotta be in control of the relationship, and if it ain't the Master of the House, it'll be a disaster."

Kíli cocked an eyebrow, desperately wanting to challenge the older dwarf, but realizing they still had quite a distance to travel together—no need to start another fight so soon.

Unfortunately, Gloin was already angry and therefore not of the same mind as Kíli. "Relationships and households aren't about control," he snapped. "My Brydda is quite the most stubborn dwarrowdam you did ever see, and we do just fine that way, even with our son Gimli involved."

Ibón snorted. "Our definitions of 'fine' must vary."

"Wildly," Gloin growled, and that was the end of that, as Kíli put the two to work on different sides of camp to shut them up.

Ryn and Raela returned some time later with three hares between them. The handmaiden was flushed with pride at her catches—she was still rather new to the bow, but had nabbed one of the hares by herself—and began chatting amiably with Farin (and anyone else who would listen) while they set to gutting and skinning their dinner.

Ryn, meanwhile, approached Kíli with a troubled look on her face.

"What?" he asked. He knew that look. Something bad was afoot.

"Signs of recent orc activity—_really_ recent orc activity," she murmured softly to him. "I didn't want to frighten Raela, so I was quiet about it, but there's a pack to our south."

Kíli's heart thumped painfully in his chest. "Close enough we should move?"

Ryn shook her head. "They likely won't come any closer to the road, and it's a small party. I'd like to run out after dark and take care of it, if you don't mind."

Kíli cocked an eyebrow at her. "You need permission?"

She laughed. "Hardly. Just giving you the opportunity to fly off the handle and tell me it's too dangerous," she teased.

"Yes well," he sniffed. "You say it's a small party, you have historically had no trouble at all with those, so…I'm not even worried. How about that?"

Ryn kissed him on the cheek. "Consider it done, my Lord."

Dark fell not long after that, and Ryn spoke quietly to Raela before gathering her knives, daggers, and bow. "I'll not be gone long," she said to Kíli. "No more than an hour."

He nodded and kissed her. "For luck," he grinned. "Be careful."

"Always."

She ran, leaving Ibón and Telchar spluttering in her wake, demanding answers as to why Kíli was letting her run off after sunset alone.

Kíli took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm.

* * *

Ryn ran lightly across the long grass, heading south to the tree where she'd located the orc camp. They were out now, her ears picked up the harsh sounds of their ravaged voices growling in Black Speech. She stuck to the shadows, picking her way quietly toward them.

They were camped in a clearing about two miles south of the Great East Road, chomping on something Ryn didn't recognize.

She probably didn't want to know.

Their leader—the biggest and meanest of the lot—was circling the seven smaller ones and stealing their food when he felt like it. Nocking an arrow, Ryn took her stance, breathing deeply once as she aimed for the leader of the small pack. She pulled, aimed, released.

In the instant before she let fly, a scream echoed through the air, breaking her concentration and her aim. The arrow buried itself in the orc's shoulder instead of its temple, but Ryn had no time to recover from the loss.

She recognized that scream. It was Raela.

She ran north as fast as she could, giving up stealth for speed, and cursed when she realized the orcs were following her.

Unless she wanted to lead them back to camp, she needed to fight them now. She stopped so suddenly that one of them bowled into her—as she anticipated—right into her strategically poised dagger. She had two more down before the others even knew what happened.

The remaining five surrounded her, their leader growling, as black blood poured out of his wounded shoulder, "Look, it's dwarf scum. And a female too, how precious." They snickered, making rude gestures and laughing about what kinds of things they loved to do to female prisoners.

Ryn was disgusted, and she had no time for posturing, so she attacked instead. The orcs weren't expecting that, and she had two more down before they had a chance to respond. When they did, her training with Dwalin stood her in good stead as she stabbed the one coming up behind her in the face, while whirling and slicing another's head off.

With only two left to defeat, the biggest chief orc was nudging his companion toward her, and the cowardly smaller orc was squealing in protest. Rolling her eyes, Ryn jumped toward him and with one stab to the chest, had put him out of his misery. The chief orc barely had time to blink before she was on him.

While this one was rather large and muscular, he was also stupid, and had left his own weapon by their campfire, obviously anticipating his inferiors would kill her first. He roared his fury at her, and bear hugged her, going for a vicious bite on her shoulder.

His sharp teeth did manage to punch through the leather, and Ryn screamed, partially out of pain and partially to distract the creature from her other hand, which came around low and stabbed him in the gut. He let go with a choked sound, and she brought the dagger back around to slit his throat.

Barely stopping, Ryn checked her shoulder—bleeding, but no cut tendons or ligaments, the leather had done its job well—and turned to run again, orienting herself north. The entire exchange with the orc pack had taken less than three minutes, but in battle, three minutes was an eternity.

She ran faster.

Bursting out of the trees, Ryn's heart nearly stopped at what she saw, though her legs didn't.

There was a ring of four—Gloin, Telchar, Farin, and Bilbo—around Raela and Kíli, while Ibón fought like a whirlwind, slicing and leaping and bringing his warhammer to bear on the very last creatures Ryn was interested in seeing tonight.

Mound-wraiths swarmed their camp, screeching in their reedy voices and making goes at their tight circle. Bilbo fought furiously, his recent experience shining through in spite of his lack of formal warrior training. Gloin, Telchar, and Farin were fierce, holding the wraiths at bay; and even Raela stood, her blade trembling but ready for action.

The only one not fighting was Kíli, who lay writhing upon the ground, his eyes glazing over like they had that night in Laketown all those months ago…

Ryn was confused—_that wound had been healed!_—but there was no time to think about it. With an enraged battle cry, she joined the fray, slicing into the wraiths and falling into her magic at the same time.

It was a recent skill Galaron had had her acquiring, the ability to use her magic against dark creatures. It worked because in her Sight, they were nothing but black holes—beings without life or natural energy—and so she could brighten her own aura using her Eiri magic, to the point she would blind them.

She focused hard, needing them to get away from Kíli before that protective circle broke; and was encouraged when their screams grew in volume. The sound grated on the living beings' ears—Raela dropped her dagger, even—but Ryn didn't stop, allowing the magic to flow through her and leak out her pores.

Once blinded, the creatures were even easier to kill; and moments later, those who hadn't been sliced or hacked to bits had fled.

Ryn didn't dare let her magic fade altogether, so she dulled it so her spirit merely glowed faintly instead, a beacon to all wraiths and dark creatures that this camp was protected.

Ibón, Telchar, and Farin had never seen her magic at work and stood gaping. Ryn, however, ran to Kíli, sliding to her knees beside him.

"What happened?" she checked him over for wounds—there didn't appear to be any—but he was still clutching his morgul wound scar and his eyes weren't right. In her Sight, his aura was darkening much more quickly than it had the first time, and panic gripped her throat in a vice.

"I don't know!" Raela wailed. "Those….those things showed up, and he called us to fight, and then the first sound one of them made, he was down! It didn't even touch him, and I didn't know what to do…"

"Raela," Ryn interrupted firmly. "Get my medicines."

The handmaiden ran to do as ordered, and Ryn called, "Bilbo, boiling water, please!"

"Right, there'll be some left from the tea earlier."

While she waited, Ryn laid Kíli back with his head on his pack. He wailed in agony, his voice taking on that high, reedy tone the wraith's shared. She heard them cry back in response, and brightened her aura again, warning them off.

"Kíli, no, don't do this, love, stay with me…"

She couldn't use her healing magic on this; that had been disastrous last time. Instead, she placed a hand on his sweating forehead and murmured a quiet spell in Orð. The language was ancient, words forged by Estë herself; and contained the ability to soothe, if not heal, entirely on their own, independent of the falancurú.

It worked, a little. Kíli quieted, and Ryn dug in her leather pack for the athelas Cirryn had sent her away from Rivendell with—"just in case, _mellon nin_," she had stated—and crushed the leaves between her palms, murmuring the Orð spell Galaron had taught her—the equivalent of the Sindarin chant Tauriel had used to bring Kíli back the first time:

"Estë, give strength to the fallen; release from death the friend of my heart…"

Three times, she chanted, throwing the crushed leaves into the steaming water. A delicious scent pervaded the area and Kíli's thrashing stilled completely.

_Yes, Kíli, that's it, come back to me…._

"Estë, give strength to the fallen; release from death the friend of my heart…"

She wet a clean cloth in the athelas water while Bilbo carefully cut Kíli's leggings over his old wound. The scar was angry red, twisted and swollen, black tendrils snaking outward from the site.

"The poison never goes away, it is only controlled," Lord Elrond had warned her.

She pressed the cloth to the wound, and Kíli whimpered—a dwarfy, low sound that had her choking back a sob of gratitude.

_He's coming back._

Still, she didn't dare stop chanting and bathing the wound in athelas until his breathing evened out, his eyes deepened to their customary brown, and he came to enough to focus on her tear-stained face.

"Ryn?" he croaked, his voice ravaged.

"Shhhh, Kíli, it's all right now. Rest, you need to sleep."

"Horrible dreams, I don't want to sleep," he was whimpering now. She leaned down and kissed him softly, wiping his tears away with her thumbs.

"Dream of me, Kílan," she whispered, using his Heart Name deliberately. It punched through the fear and exhaustion; he nodded and ran his cold fingers through her hair tiredly.

"…will dream…of you…Ryn…" he murmured, falling gently into slumber as she murmured soft endearments into his ear.

She sat up a moment later, when he was well and truly asleep, to see four very curious dwarves staring down at her while Gloin and Bilbo busied themselves elsewhere.

Raela recovered first. "What….what do we do now?"

Ryn stood, dusting herself off. "We get some rest tonight, and then make for the Forsaken Inn in the morning. Kíli will need a couple of days to regain his strength."

Telchar, the unofficial second-in-command of this venture, nodded; and it was settled.

* * *

_Mizim—_Khuzdul, "darling"

_Azinl__á__z—_Khuzdul for angel, lit. "Mistress of the stars"

_Namad—_Khuzdul, "sister"

_Amadnamad—_Khuzdul for Aunt, lit. "Mother-sister"

* * *

A/N: The idea that Kíli's morgul wound would react to dark creatures was inspired by **summerald** and her brilliant work, and used with permission. Thanks for reading, don't forget to review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Sorry about the wait on this chapter, friends, this week has absolutely slain me. But! Here we have a bit of angst, drama, evil planning, and even some raven speaking! So enjoy!

* * *

"Sêla?"

The dwarf lass buried her face in her pillow, eyes stinging and bleary as she struggled to hang onto the dozy state her sister had found her in.

"Sêla, please…I have to talk to you."

Sêla moaned, then sighed, then made a big show of sitting up slowly. It was childish, part of her knew, but she wasn't feeling very mature right now.

Anora cocked an eyebrow at her, unimpressed. "It's not often you act like a dwarfling, Sêla."

"It's not often I have reason to, Anora."

"And you do right now? How is pouting going to make this any better?" Anora pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "I came to talk to you, sister, not fight with you."

Sêla sighed and uncrossed her arms, reaching for Anora, who came willingly into her embrace. "I'm sorry, _namad_; I just don't have the energy to pretend I'm okay with this…"

"I don't expect you to," her older sister murmured, cupping her cheek with one hand. "But I need to know how you're feeling, if we're okay, you and me."

Sêla's heart softened considerably at that, and she nodded. "We are fine, Anora, this is not your fault."

"You know I'll fight him on it."

Sêla took a deep breath. "You shouldn't."

Complete silence met her pronouncement.

"What?!" Anora looked dumbfounded. Sêla would've laughed, had the situation been different. Instead, she sighed and squeezed her sister's shoulder.

"Don't fight Papa on this, Anora. You and Fíli could be great together, in the same way that Fíli and Kíli are great together—you can balance him when he gets all somber and responsible; and he can steady your impetuosity—and…and I'd rather it be you than someone else." She blinked back tears furiously. "At least with you, I know he's safe and loved."

Anora sat back, still stunned. Sêla plucked restlessly at a string on the quilt.

"It would be a betrayal…." Anora murmured. She looked Sêla in the eyes and spoke more firmly. "It would be a betrayal for me to claim the man my sister loves. I'll not do that to you, Sêla, regardless of what Papa or anyone else says—_including_ you. And besides," she interrupted as Sêla opened her mouth to protest, "I don't want to be Queen of Erebor anyway."

"Anora—"

"No. My mind is made up." The older lass gave her sister a compassionate smile. "Though, to preserve the peace, I'll not make a huge fuss about it. I'll go, spend time with him, do all the things Papa wants; and then when Fíli still doesn't want to take it any further—because it's Fíli, and he won't—it'll be over and done with and no one the wiser about my opinion of the situation."

Sêla nodded; uncertain, but grateful Anora wouldn't be starting any family feuds over it. She didn't think she had the emotional fortitude for that just now. Resigned, she managed a small smile for her sister; and they settled in for the night amiably, chatting about Erebor and how it would be to live there.

Sêla's final waking thoughts were of Kíli and the guard coming to Thorin's Halls, wondering where they were and what they were doing.

* * *

The guard in question was currently huddling around a campfire in the wake of a mound-wraith attack and their leader's subsequent illness, each of them trying to deal with the trauma of the night in their own way.

Ibón had wrapped himself in his bedroll and gone straight to sleep, snoring heavily. Telchar and Farin were on watch, the older lieutenant with his arm around his young cousin's shoulders. Gloin was sharpening his axe, Bilbo staring into the flames.

Raela, in true handmaiden fashion, had yelped in alarm at the sight of Ryn's bleeding shoulder, where the orc chief had bitten her through her leathers. Ryn had quite forgotten about it herself, in the midst of dealing with Kíli, but now the pain returned in full force; stinging and throbbing and hot.

She had carefully removed her corset and pulled the collar of her tunic down over her shoulder so Raela could get at the wounds. The lass was quite capable with the medicines when Ryn talked her through it, and so it was only a matter of a few minutes before she was bandaged and the painkilling herbs working on the lacerations.

Raela tried to fuss over her a bit more, but Ryn was in no mood for it and sent her away, not unkindly, to go clean herself up and then sleep. Raela obeyed, and Ryn made a mental note to speak with her on the morrow to ensure she was really all right after the night's excitement. For now, though, she sought out Bilbo; her first and fondest friend.

She sat heavily beside him, and he favored her with a small smile.

"Ryn."

"Bilbo."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, Ryn watching Kíli sleep, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest soothe her fear. She had almost lost him—_again_—to that morgul wound.

She needed to find out from Galaron if there was something she could do.

_First thing, as soon as we get back._

"How are you?" the hobbit's question came softly from her left side, and she heard in his tone that it wasn't the usual "how are you?" used to greet someone, but the "how are you?" one might use to check over a loved one after a scare.

"I'm all right. And you?"

He nodded. "Not a scratch." Then he grinned. "I think I'm getting the hang of this adventuring thing."

Ryn couldn't stop the soft laugh that escaped her lips. "You've certainly changed a lot since I met you, Bilbo Baggins. But in a good way. The best parts of you haven't changed a bit."

He ran his hand through the thick curls atop his head, sitting back comfortably. "Some things have not changed, that is true. I still miss my books."

"And your armchair?"

"And my garden," he confirmed, smiling at their echo of the speech he'd given Thorin just outside Goblin Town all those months ago. The smile lasted a moment, but then Bilbo sighed.

"I miss him."

"Me too," Ryn agreed, thinking of the ill-tempered but loyal Son of Durin who had passed on right after the Battle of Five Armies. "And I _know_ Fíli and Kíli miss him. Kíli dreams of him sometimes." She looked troubled, glancing back over at her beloved. Bilbo put a hand on her arm.

"He'll be all right, Ryn. They both will be. They are strong, wise, and unbeatable together."

Ryn nodded, laying her hand atop Bilbo's and squeezing. "I am going to miss you fiercely when you leave us."

"Our homes are in different places," the hobbit smiled back at her. "I belong in the Shire, and you…_you_ belong with Kíli."

_I belong…_

A single tear escaped her eye, a crystalline representation of the joy she felt at the thought.

"Indeed I do."

* * *

Fíli had been right; getting Balin had been the wisest course of action for dealing with the mithril room. He was a descendent of Durin, and so could work with the magic—though not to the extent Fíli could, which Balin hypothesized was because Fíli was King Under the Mountain, and thus bound to the Mountain itself—to learn its secrets.

At first, other than a tingling feeling when they hefted the mithril rod, neither of them had been able to figure out what this room was supposed to do. For three days, Fíli thought of little else in his spare time; and Balin spent every free waking moment (and some he ought to have been sleeping) in the chamber or in what was left of Erebor's ancient library (several levels down and far into the North Quarter where Smaug hadn't been able to really reach), trying to divine its purpose.

Upon reading somewhere that there was once an entire system of mithril chambers—and a few in public areas—in the Mountain, he put Dwalin and Fíli on the trail to find more of them. Fíli had located three, Dwalin one, in the few days they had been searching.

All the chambers were distinguished by a mithril knob, and never contained any furniture other than what might be related to the purpose of the room. One of the smaller ones, for instance, held a small cot and a set of tiny rods, not unlike medical tools he'd seen healers use. He guessed that room was for healing.

Another, a much larger room, almost a hall, had a large circle with blocky runes sung into the stone around it. These runes were harsher, thicker, and spoke of things like truth, discretion, betrayal, and lack of honor. He preferred not to think about what that one was for or why he would ever feel the slightest inclination to use it.

But Balin decoded the original one they had discovered that same day, and called Fíli urgently to come and see.

Dwalin was already there when he arrived, grinning.

"It's some sort of warning system, this one," Balin muttered as Fíli entered. "From what I can gather, it has the ability to tell the King everything the Mountain knows about whatever danger may be coming or already here…" he looked up. "But I cannot properly access the information, as I'm not the King."

"What must I do?" Fíli asked. He was nervous—what if he did something wrong, or proved himself unworthy of the title he now held? He certainly felt unworthy of it much of the time. But he was also determined; Thorin would not have given up, he would not have cowered away from the unknown.

_He also wouldn't have felt so apprehensive and unfit for the honor he bore_, a nasty voice whispered in his head.

He ignored it.

Balin was consulting his rather extensive notes. "Lift the mithril rod and hold it parallel to the floor at arm's length from you."

Fíli obeyed, feeling a bit foolish.

"Now spin it once and place the end into the little hollowed out spot in the middle of the Ring of _Ozodlniti.._" Fíli cocked an eyebrow, and Balin grinned at the name, then continued. "And bring your mind to bear on the secrets of the Mountain."

_Bring my mind to bear upon the….how am I supposed to do that?_

Feeling more like a silly dwarfling than the King Under the Mountain, Fíli spun the rod and stabbed it into the ground firmly, dead center in the middle of the runes.

_The secrets of the Mountain, what secrets does the Mountain have for me…?_

The effect was instantaneous. The runes and veins of mithril in the walls, floor, and ceiling lit up as if from within; Fíli felt a jolt through his body, much like when he touched the mithril knob a few nights earlier; except much, much stronger. Images and impressions flooded his mind—if he'd ever had any doubt the mountain was a living entity, he was cured of it now. It was a very different sort of consciousness, but consciousness nonetheless.

_The raven flock nested in the trees of his western slope, returning to the Mountain now that there were Ravenspeakers again…_

_A few of the stone-people had begun mining again, chipping away at the stone to gather the treasures the Mountain had in store for them…but one stone-man was digging in a weak spot…_

Fíli saw the miner clearly and knew exactly where he was digging that was troublesome.

"Tell Bofur that the dwarf mining at the southwest junction needs to stop. That area is unsafe and needs to be shored before we can mine there," he said clearly as he could, barely aware when Dwalin ran off to warn Bofur of the danger.

_The earth surrounding the mountain spoke of new life, to the east and to the south…spiders in the distance to the west, deep inside the Mirkwood, and the North was dark as ever it was._

_The mountain allowed him time to soak it all in for a moment, but he was not here to gawp at his new-found power. Something more sinister than a miner in danger was amiss._

_Deep inside the abandoned caverns beneath the city, near the source of the Little River which ran from the Mountain and met the River Running several leagues away; whispers…small sounds of weapons making…_

_Fíli focused on that vision, wanting to know more. There were no forges or living quarters that far down. The Mountain obliged, tuning into the words the stone-man was saying to himself as he sharpened his plain blade. He was hidden in shadow, though the small fire he kept illuminated black hair, a sparse beard, and eyes like coal. Fíli did not recognize him, but the words he said made the King's blood run cold:_

"_Upon the Line of Thorin Oakenshield I will take my revenge. His selfish greed will be turned back upon his own heir; and young Fíli will know, in the moments before his death, just what kind of dwarf his uncle was. This I swear."_

_At the mention of his Uncle in such a manner, Fíli felt rage shoot hot and sharp through his chest. _

_Assassin!_

_The Mountain reacted—whether to Fíli's fury or the threat to the King, he didn't know—a small tremor running through the ground at Fíli's feet. He sensed a cry of alarm deep inside, where the dwarf sat sharpening his knife ceremonially and repeating his oath to himself; _There_, Fíli thought. _Look there_._

_The small chamber was collapsed, dust and rock settling where the stone-man had sat…but there was no body. The assassin had escaped!_

Fíli gasped and let go of the mithril rod, wincing when it clanged to the ground, the mithril runes dulling to their normal silver. Balin was by his side instantly, hand on his heaving back.

_Mahal, that was overwhelming!_

"What happened, lad? Are you all right?"

Fíli shook his head to clear it and took deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

"I heard…the Mountain. In my head. I saw what it sees, heard what it hears…Balin, it was incredible; just…a lot to handle at once…"

Balin chuckled. "I can only imagine."

"Also, someone intends to kill me."

* * *

The guard reached the Forsaken Inn around noon the second day following the attack. Riding had been a challenge, with Kíli barely conscious much of the time; but they had made do, taking turns riding with him to keep him on his pony.

Ryn remembered how different things had been—how different _she_ had been—last time she'd stumbled into this inn, pale and barely conscious as her body was ravaged by common snakeroot toxin from a poisoned blade. The innkeeper and his wife had been inordinately kind to her, and she was pleased to be able to enter here again with more money than she'd ever hoped to lay eyes on before.

Perhaps she could repay the man his kindness. But first, Kíli needed care.

Telchar arranged rooms for them, and Ryn helped Farin assist Kíli to his, lowering him slowly to the plain bed in the small room.

"Hardly fit for a Prince," he muttered. Ryn forced a smile past her worry.

"But it is a soft pillow and a place he can rest safely. We have much to be grateful for."

Farin grunted in reluctant agreement. "You should go take a meal and some rest, my lady. I will stay with him."

Ryn shook her head. "I am his healer, Farin, I will stay; you go eat. But send Raela in at her convenience, please."

"But—"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. He paused.

"Yes, my lady."

Ryn turned back to Kíli after he left, sighing and carding a hand gently through her prince's dark waves.

_He's so pale. I should try to heal him. But last time I tried to use falancurú on a morgul wound it nearly killed him._

"I don't know what to do, my love," she whispered against his shoulder. He moaned quietly, eyes fluttering beneath his lids.

_I do know I can't do this again; I can't lose him, not so soon after…_

_Images flooded her mind; blood spraying from Kíli's throat as the orc over him bayed its victory…running to him, heedless of the danger…the mad ride atop Beorn's back to the small grove of trees…working feverishly to save him, the moment of absolute horror when she realized there was no living thing within her range save Beorn to steal energy from._

_The heart-rending decision to steal from her own life force._

_The agony of it, the primal fear, the fight against the instinct of self preservation, Mahal, it had hurt so much…then everything going black._

That situation had ended as well as she could've expected, obviously—Fíli, Kíli, and she had all survived, though Thorin hadn't, and there wasn't a day went by she didn't re-analyze the situation and try to think what she could've done to preserve his life as well—but she wasn't sure how much longer their luck could hold.

This illness was beyond her. She had no idea what was wrong, only that it was related to Kíli's morgul wound, or exacerbated by it at least. She wished she'd known this would be a problem when they were in Rivendell, she could've asked Lord Elrond…

_Wait_.

Lord Elrond. They weren't far enough from Rivendell that a raven couldn't make the journey—and Kíli had asked a few of the Mountain Flock to accompany them to Ered Luin, in case he needed to send a message. They generally kept to themselves, the birds, following at their own pace and in their own way…but perhaps she could call one.

Except that there were no Ravenspeakers in Rivendell. Nor was _she_ one.

She kissed Kíli's cheek before running out the door to find Raela.

Anyone could speak to a raven, with the proper motivation. And she was more motivated than any woman ever had been, she was sure of it.

* * *

Dis sat back, wiping the sweat from her brow as she finished packing the last of the things from the boys' room. The work of packing up an entire household—even leaving most of the furniture behind, as she was—was long and exhausting.

She was lucky to have Sêla and Anora helping. They had asked to help the day the announcement had come, and she had protested at first, stating that she was certain they needed to help pack their own things. The girls had laughed and promised her that their mother would put the servants right on that—but that Lady Dis, who kept no servants, preferring instead to maintain her own small household (_and it had been small indeed, of late!),_ would need more help than they.

So she had agreed, and now she was grateful for it. The girls were strong and young, and willing to work hard. Right now, they were singing as they scrubbed down her kitchen, most everything packed in crates and stacked by the door.

_Less than two weeks._

In less than fourteen days, she would see her youngest son again. The thought made her smile, remembering how she and the boys used to count the days until Thorin would return from his trips.

"_Mama, mama!" her tiny, blonde-haired lad came running, his smaller brother stumbling along at his heels._

"_Fíli, my son, what is the matter?" she asked, laughing at the light in his eyes and at little Kíli's thumb stuck firmly in his mouth, his other hand twisted in Fíli's tunic._

"_Mama, Kíli wants to help us count today!"_

"_Does he?" Dis had crooned, smiling when the little boys both nodded. "Very well then, come. Sit at the table."_

_They clambered up into a chair, and Dis nearly laughed aloud when Fíli pulled Kíli into his lap and pointed at the calendar she had laid out on the table. _

"_See, Kee?" he said seriously, the weight of his responsibility to teach Kíli this most important tradition heavy on his tiny shoulders. "Every square is one day! Today is this day—" he pointed to the fifth square on the calendar, "And Uncle Forin is coming home this day!" he showed Kíli the fourteenth day, an 'x' brushed into it with red ink to record it as the day her brother would return from Bree._

_Fíli continued. "So every day, Mama and I count from today until the day Uncle comes home, like this!"_

_He pointed at the fifth square. "One." Then the sixth, "two." Before he could reach the seventh, though, a stubby finger beat him to it, and Kíli crowed, "Free!"_

_Fíli grinned. "Very good, nadadith! Now we let Mama count the next one."_

_She pressed a finger to the eighth square. "Four."_

Smiling, Dis made her way into the front room and eyed the calendar on the wall. She touched the red 'x' over the first day of March, and traced her finger back to the sixteenth day of February.

"One."

* * *

_My Lord Elrond,_

_I am writing you this missive to plead for your assistance once again. Our company was attacked by mound-wraiths on the Great East Road two nights ago, and Kíli has had a rather unusual reaction to them. He collapsed without even having fought them, and the morgul wound flared. He fell ill and nearly slipped into the wraith world, as he had nearly done that night in Laketown when Lady Tauriel saved him. The athelas was his cure, but now he remains in some sort of deep stupor we cannot wake him entirely from. It has been nearly forty-eight hours without a change, and I don't know what to do for him. _

_Is this like anything you have ever heard of? What must I do to help him? _

_We are currently staying at the Forsaken Inn and will remain for at least a couple of days, or until Kíli is well enough to travel again. Please help if you can._

_Regards,_

_Miriel_

Ryn sealed the note and ran outside, thanking Raela hastily for the use of her parchment and quill. She ran all the way to the road and then further a bit, holding out her arm as she'd seen Kíli do, hoping one of the birds would recognize her.

She was not disappointed.

A large bird called above her head, then swooped to perch on her arm, talons digging into her skin. She wished she'd thought to wear her bracers, but did not move or protest. The glossy raven opened its beak and squawked carefully.

She focused hard on the sounds coming from its beak, trying to form them into words.

"I am Qir," the words formed slowly, painfully in her mind. "You…Spring Lassie. Carry message?"

_Spring Lassie?_ Kíli had said their names were odd, but she couldn't even figure out what that one meant.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I need you to carry a message to Rivendell. You know Rivendell?"

The bird ruffled his feathers, squawking indignantly. "Spring Lassie voice hurts!"

"Sorry, sorry," she lowered her volume and tone. "I'm sorry. Do you know Rivendell?"

"Willow-people?"

_Willow people?_

"Elves? Yes….willow-people live in Rivendell."

"Yes," the bird quorked. "Willow-people in Sweet Valley. Much food, happy trees. Carry message to willow-people?"

"Yes, to the dark haired chief. Can I tie the note to your leg?"

The bird nodded. "Message to Raven Chief of Willow-People in Sweet Valley. Good fly, fly fast."

"Please," she crooned, stroking the raven's breast. "Please fly fast, Fledgling needs you." Qir cocked his head at Kíli's raven name. "Fledgling?"

"He is sick. Hurt."

Qir ruffled his feathers and shuddered in what she guessed must have been a distressed expression. "Fledgling sick? Good fly, fly fast to Raven Chief of Willow-People!"

The bird nipped her finger affectionately and flew off.

"Mahal go with you, Qir."

* * *

Kerif was a lot of things, but a coward was not one of them. That afternoon's collapse of the cavern, however, had frightened him out of his wits. It was almost as if the Mountain itself had heard him repeating his oath to himself, readying himself to avenge his family's deaths. He'd nearly been killed, and since the King's apparent discovery that someone was trying to kill him (_how_ had he known?), Frâr had been relentless in his search for the culprit. As second-in-command, Kerif was expected to help, but he was also privy to all Frâr's information and was able to steer him in the wrong direction multiple times to push the heat away from himself. It was working for now, but Kerif had no idea how long that would last.

He needed to do this, and soon. Before Prince Kíli or that bastard witch of his got back to Erebor. With Prince Kíli back in the mountain, Kerif would have _no_ chance of success—the brothers were unstoppable together. And that was only assuming Frâr didn't catch him first.

But his own bloodlust aside, Kerif's master would be _most_ unhappy should he fail.

His hands shook at the thought, and he dropped the knife he was sharpening, cursing himself and his clumsy fingers. Blasted fever had left him with less-than-steady nerves all those years ago, and he still felt the effects of it to this day when he was under a lot of pressure.

Kerif sighed, studying the newly forged dagger he had made for this purpose. It was undecorated, barely a shaft of iron shaped into a rough knife for one purpose alone—unidentifiable murder.

_Justice_, he reminded himself. _This is justice, not murder_.

Fíli would be alone that night after supper, and Kerif was on guard duty. He could easily send the door guards to the kitchens or something and finish this once and for all.

He would leave the mountain once he was done. There was no need to stay, the rest of the master's plan would work fine without him. He could find refuge in Emyn Muil—their relationship with the Longbeards was definitely the most shaky of the remaining dwarf kingdoms. He nodded to himself, stuffing clothes and provisions into a pack.

Tonight was the night.

* * *

_Ozodlniti—_Khuzdul, lit. "Wicked light." The implication is that of illuminating evil, bringing light to that which is hidden.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

* * *

Raela opened the door to the Prince's room after a soft knock, knowing she would find Lady Deorynn inside. The lass hadn't taken time to eat, bathe, or rest since they'd arrived at the inn, and Raela knew she needed to do all three; so she'd brought Bilbo along to sit with Kíli for a while.

"My Lady?" she murmured. The girl looked up from her spot near Kíli's bed, smile not quite reaching her tired eyes. Raela resisted the urge to tut over the girl—she knew how Ryn hated it—and instead addressed her calmly. "My Lady, you need food, a bath, and rest. Bilbo will watch the prince for a while." She was careful to phrase it as a statement; not as a question, nor as an order, as her charge would flat-out refuse both of the latter.

Instead, Ryn seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. "Let's compromise, Raela: I'll eat and bathe, but I'm staying in here overnight."

Raela paused. It was not proper for the lass to spend the night in her intended's room; however, he was ill, so these were extenuating circumstances. She nodded, holding her arm out to the girl and hooking it over her shoulder when she came to her willingly.

"I suppose it can't hurt. He's in no shape to misbehave, and I'm guessing you're far too exhausted."

Ryn gave her a tight smile.

Raela was as good as her word; after Ryn ate and bathed, she bade goodnight to her handmaid and walked next door to Kíli's room again. Bilbo had fallen asleep in the chair and was only too relieved to head to his own room for a soft bed and blanket, bidding Ryn goodnight with a pat on the arm.

The girl sat in the chair, determined to stay awake in case Kíli worsened in the night. To keep herself awake, she let herself imagine how she would feel if something went wrong and she didn't know it because she was indulging in a few hours' rest…

It worked for several hours, but by the time the call rang out for two hours after midnight, Ryn's head was pillowed on her arms next to Kíli's side, and she was sleeping soundly, still sitting in the chair.

"Ryn? Ryn!"

Deorynn started at the sound of her name from Kíli's lips, wrecked and scratchy though his voice was. "Kíli?"

Ryn blinked furiously, trying to wake up. Sleep's heavy tendrils clung to her, yanking her down into the blessed darkness of unconsciousness. With a growl, she tore free; focusing on the prince's sleep-mussed head, noting his color was improving.

But Kíli wasn't quite awake, calling her name in a stupored half-sleep. "Ryn," he croaked, and she stroked his cheek, shushing him gently, trying to help him wake so he could sit up and drink some peppermint water. "Come on, Kíli, wake up," she murmured. "You need some water, âzyungel, lest you become dehydrated. You must wake up!"

Kíli moaned, leaning heavily against her, and blinked his eyes open slowly. Ryn kept talking to him, drawing him out from his slumber.

"I have water for you here, Kíli; wake up."

Finally, his gaze cleared and he blinked blearily at her. "Ryn?"

She smiled. "There you are. How do you feel?"

"Wrung out," he responded slowly, wincing. "Like I just finished a battle, or spent all day training for one. Except there's no real physical pain, like from injuries, except for my leg. I'm just…exhausted."

She looked him over critically, noting the blush returning to his cheeks slowly, the tired but clear eyes, the steady heartbeat and strong breaths. She nodded. "I think you're going to be okay. Just a couple of days' rest and we'll be ready to travel again!"

Kíli looked around, seeming to notice his surroundings for the first time. "Where are we? How long have I been out?"

"We're at the Forsaken Inn, and you've been mostly unconscious for almost three days."

"_Mahal_," he muttered, running a hand through his tangled locks, fingers catching on the fine strands. "Ow."

Ryn smiled and drew his hand from his hair. "Do you remember what happened?"

He nodded as she took over finger-combing his hair for him. "Mound-wraiths attacked the camp. I had just called our guard to fight when one of them screeched at me, and suddenly I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, the scar on my leg burned like it did that night in Laketown…it was _horrible_, Ryn…" his eyes drifted shut, energy depleted. "And the fever dreams…they came back, those dark visions of slimy hands and fingers around my throat, suffocating…"

"Shhh, Kíli, it was a dream. You are safe now."

Ryn helped him lay back again, still running his hair through her fingers. Kíli leaned into her hand and murmured, half-asleep, "Is everyone all right?"

"Yes. They're all fine."

"Good. Ryn?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

She smiled, and then kissed his cheek. "I love you too, my prince."

And Kíli slept again.

* * *

Fárbjóðr winced as his Lord screamed in rage, appearing before him in one of His rarest—and most dangerous—forms; that of a tall cloaked figure with black mist where his face should be, the only definable feature being two glowing red eyes which fixed the Eiri man with their disconcerting gaze.

And anything that could discomfit Fárbjóðr was fierce, indeed.

He bowed. "My Lord, how may I be of service to you?"

"That thrice-cursed wench is making this much more difficult—the wraiths can't go near her when she's in fighting form; her light blinds them." The Dark One growled menacingly. "Fárbjóðr, when you get your hands on her, I want you to _destroy_ her light, do you hear me? Leave not one spark of it left. Not the slightest flame; I want it all gone. I want her as sinister and ruined as you, is that understood?"

Fárbjóðr smiled. "It will be my pleasure, my Lord. What of her companion, the one you hope to transform into a mighty servant for our cause?"

The Dark One made a noise of disgust. "She's in love with him and will protect him with her life. But we can't touch him when she's nearby; they must be separated as soon as possible. Until they reach Rohan, we'll have to settle for hounding their steps with orcs and other dark creatures," a sinister chuckle emitted from beneath the hood, "the young Durin Prince reacted badly to the wraiths; the more of them he encounters, the weaker he'll be when I make my move to turn him."

"Reacted badly, my Lord?"

"Dark creatures call to the morgul poison that still resides in his veins, and he fights it; thus rendering himself ill and useless for days on end." The Dark One snorted. "Fool. There is only one way to ever purge a body of morgul poison, but that knowledge is lost to the ancients, residing here in the secret places of Fjallstadr."

Fárbjóðr nodded. He had seen the place, though he could not access its mysteries no matter how he tried—and Valar knew, he had tried. For nigh on one hundred years, he had _tried_.

The cloaked figure nodded. "I know you seek it, my Servant. But it is a magic you cannot possess even should you wish to, for your soul is as black as mine and cannot wield such power anymore."

"As you say, my Lord," Fárbjóðr acquiesced with a bow. "I cannot say it is a terrible loss for me to not know it." But it was. That Secret Place held magic that neither he nor his Master could fathom, magic that could make them unstoppable, if it did not destroy them. Fárbjóðr wanted answers—and he _always_ got what he wanted. One way or another.

_I will get my hands on that magic, and then I will be the Master..._

"It is no loss," his Lord continued. "Magic of that sort is the only kind that can challenge us. The less that is known of it, the better. It shall remain hidden, inaccessible to our enemies."

_Know thine enemy, they say, for only then can you defeat him._

But he bowed. "Yes, my Lord."

* * *

Frâr was absolutely _furious_. The King's announcement that the Mountain had alerted him to an assassin in Erebor irked him, perhaps more than was strictly logical.

It meant he wasn't doing his job.

Fíli, of course, had been incredibly gracious, reassuring his young Captain that he really couldn't expect to know _everything_ about _everything_ going on in the Mountain at _all_ times; and that now he, Frâr, was the one being too hard on himself.

The King was right, of course.

But it still irked him.

So it was with a small party of six dwarves, leaving his second-in-command in charge of the King's safety, with several extra guards just to be sure, that Frâr went to investigate the collapsed chamber where the assassin had sat earlier that afternoon, preparing himself.

_Perhaps he left a clue, the honorless bastard._

The cave-in was complete; it was fortunate for the assassin he had got away when he did, because he would have died in that collapse, there would've been no way for him to survive.

Slowly, Frâr and his men began moving some of the rock—the King had assured him it would be safe to do so—looking for any evidence as to who might be planning such a heinous crime.

Frâr threw himself into the work, letting the physical labor burn off his rage.

* * *

Far away, on the Great East Road, a horse thundered over the dirt, heedless of the night or the dangers it posed. This was no ordinary steed that need fear orc or goblin, nor was its rider anything less than one of the greatest warrior-healers Middle Earth had ever seen; so on through the night they sped, Maerh and Elf-Lord, west toward Bree, headed for the Forsaken Inn.

Even with the horse's greater speed, it was nearly midday the next day before the Inn came into sight. Lord Elrond handed his steed, Fëafelas, to a groom and tipped him well to care for the horse. Then he set his mind to find Lady Miriel.

He did not have to look far. The lady's handmaiden was sitting on the front porch of the inn, mending a tunic and enjoying the sun. She stood abruptly upon seeing the Elf Lord.

"My lord Elrond," she recovered quickly and gave him a perfect curtsey. "Lady Deorynn has been expecting word from you, though I don't think she expected you to come in person. Come, she is with the Prince."

The lass led him inside, through the main room where they received many stares and gasps of shock, down the hall and to the left.

Raela knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. She gave a chuckle, and Lord Elrond smiled too, when he saw why.

Kíli was laying on his back, breathing deep and steady, Miriel curled up on her side next to him, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and his abdomen. Raela shook the girl by the shoulder, and she awoke quickly, sitting up as a little sleepy sound of inquiry sounded from her throat.

"My Lady, Lord Elrond…"

But Miriel had seen the elf, and her face brightened considerably. She crossed the room in a few steps and stood before him.

"My Lord Elrond! I did not expect you to come yourself!" Not that she looked terribly disappointed he was here.

"It seemed an odd illness, so I decided to come myself and see what I can find out," Elrond replied. Miriel nodded. "We don't understand it at all. He has awakened since I sent you that missive, but he is very weak—the last time he was only awake long enough to take a little food and water. Maybe ten minutes or so."

Elrond's brow furrowed. "How can he travel if he is so weak?"

"That's what we're worried about."

"Have you tried transferring some energy to his body using your Eiri magic?"

The girl shook her head. "If it's related to the morgul wound, I don't want to hurt him again."

"Understandable," the elf-lord replied. "But we've got to try something, and I'm right here if anything goes wrong. Let us at least attempt it, Lady Miriel."

She hesitated—not that Elrond blamed her—but agreed, closing her eyes and placing her hands over Kíli's chest. Her hands began to glow, first white, then with sparks of green—which Elrond understood to mean she was gleaning energy from nearby plants. She held it there, transferring the energy into Kíli, for about fifteen seconds, then retreated.

The dwarf prince stirred, his eyes fluttered open, and he called groggily, "Fíli?"

Miriel chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it's me."

He blinked and focused his gaze on his intended. "Ryn. What happened?"

"Do you feel better?" she ignored his question. He sat up on his own, blinking and studying his hands. After a moment, he swung his legs over the mattress and stood slowly, testing his weight on each foot—particularly the leg that held the twisted morgul wound scar, Elrond noted.

"Yes," he replied wonderingly. "I feel _much_ better. Did you do this?"

"She did," Elrond cut in before she could answer. Kíli turned quickly, his eyes widening when he recognized the elf-lord. But he recovered, bowing respectfully to the taller man. "My Lord Elrond, I am…surprised to see you here."

Elrond smiled at that. "I'm certain you are. Miriel called for my help when she grew concerned about your condition. Rivendell is not so very far from here."

"What did you discover?" Kíli asked, sitting down again.

"Not much. I do not know why you were afflicted thus; I do know that morgul poison never actually leaves the blood, it is only controlled. So it would logically follow that the wraiths you met were drawn to that and somehow called to it, activating the poison anew."

Kíli's eyes widened. "So…it could happen again?"

Elrond nodded solemnly. "Could, and likely will."

"But now that we know I can use magic to help your body recover after treating the poison with the athelas," Ryn stated, "it won't be as…devastating." Her face twisted into an expression of concern. "It'll still hurt a lot, and…be particularly unpleasant, but…I can at least shorten the time period you're weakened and ill."

Kíli nodded slowly, then asked, "Why has it not happened in the previous months? If my morgul wound draws dark creatures like mound-wraiths, why hasn't Erebor been beset by them?"

Elrond heard the barely-masked dread in the question. "I think the mountain protects you," he answered. "The Lonely Mountain has a deep and little-understood connection with the Sons of Durin, so it is entirely possible it is the only place in Middle Earth where evil of this nature cannot reach you. At least, no more than it can your brother or any other descendant of Durin."

Kíli appeared to be deep in thought, so Miriel escorted Lord Elrond out a few minutes later.

"Thank you so much for coming so quickly," she murmured as they walked down the hallway. "I don't know how long it would have taken him to recover otherwise."

Elrond nodded. "You can also try Larch needle tea to help him regain his strength. It is an excellent tonic, and the trees are quite common in this part of Arda."

"Yes, I know the species," Miriel nodded. "I used it for years for an infusion of energy when I was sick or injured while traveling. We'll definitely try it."

Elrond nodded to the girl as they walked outside and he called for his mount. "Was Qir good to you?" she asked him. "Ravens are notoriously picky birds, very proud and persnickety."

Elrond laughed. "He was charming, as ravens go. He only pecked me once." The elf-lord held up the back of his left hand to reveal a single red scab on the flawless white skin. "Bit of a surprise, that was."

"I can imagine," Ryn pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am sorry."

He waved her off. "No reason to apologize, they simply act according to their nature. I was happy to help." He mounted his steed, who was nuzzling Ryn's shoulder, nickering. "Fëafelas thinks females mean treats. I'm afraid my daughter has spoiled him most terribly."

Ryn giggled, pulling out an apple from her pocket. "Well, we wouldn't want to break his trust in the ladies, would we?" She stroked his nose and chucked him affectionately under the chin as he crunched the sweet fruit. "Thank you; once again it seems I am in your debt, my Lord. I shall never be able to repay you at this rate, I think."

He smiled. "Then it is well for us both that I do not keep scores. May the Valar protect you and your company on your quest, young Miriel. Fare thee well, until we meet again."

"Goodbye!" Miriel called as he rode away east.

* * *

That evening, Fíli almost came to wish he hadn't said anything at all to Frâr about the assassin. There were so many guards around; he was practically locked in his study. They wouldn't even let him move to his chambers until they had checked them _thoroughly_ for traps or intruders. They brought him food that first had been tested for poisons, water was brought by a team of guards from the spring itself, rather than the kitchens, and no one was allowed in to see the King.

Not even Balin.

That, more than anything, tweaked the King's patience, and he shouted at Kerif to let his oldest friend and advisor pass, and by Durin's Beard, if these guards didn't clear out right now he was going to hand every one of them over to the kitchen servants for cleaning duty!

After a moment, the young lieutenant shooed every guard out of the room, though he refused to leave himself, which Fíli found to be an acceptable compromise. He sighed and turned to Balin.

"Hello, Mister Balin. What can I do for you?"

Balin chuckled. "You can follow the directives of your Guard, my King, and keep yourself alive to rule another day."

Fíli made The Face—the one Balin knew better than anyone, that Fíli adopted whenever he found a rule of propriety that particularly needled him; the one where his eyes narrowed and his nose scrunched just enough to communicate disgust without sneering outright—and Balin just laughed. "I know it's not easy, lad. That's why I came down to see you."

"To gloat?" Fíli growled, but Balin caught the twinkle in his eye as The Face relaxed into a teasing grin. Balin laughed. "Hardly, my King; but simply to remind you they are here for your benefit and to preserve your life." He patted Kerif's shoulder as he walked out the door. "They are simply doing their jobs."

Fíli waved a goodbye to him as Balin shut the door firmly, leaving him alone in the room with Kerif.

"Well, he's wrong about one thing," the young lieutenant said, locking the door behind the old scholar. Fíli eyed him oddly.

"What's that?"

"I'm not here to preserve your life. I'm here to take it."

* * *

Frâr stopped, breathing hard and sweating, as shouts arose from the other side of the chamber.

"Captain! I found something!"

He met Dwalin halfway, studying what the older warrior held in his hand. It was a torn strip of a tabard, and Frâr felt the world close in around him.

He recognized the material, the color, the stitching, the half-torn rune sewn into the light fabric.

_Rust-red, gold stitching, King's Guard, Lieutenant._

The assassin was one of his.

"Dwalin," he murmured so the others couldn't hear. "This belongs to one of us. The King's Guard. A lieutenant in the king's own guard…how could I have not…_seen_ this?"

"No time for that, laddie," Dwalin growled. "The King's Guard are the only ones that still have access to Fíli right now, which means…"

"…the assassin can still get to him."

Frâr and Dwalin ran.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

* * *

Fíli stared into the dark eyes of his would-be killer, trying to come to terms with what was happening here.

His life was being threatened by one of his own guards. Worse!—the _second_-_in_-_command_ of his personal guard. The older lad was holding a plain dagger and stating outright that he intended to kill the King Under the Mountain.

_You know_, a little voice in his head spoke up. _If you hadn't fussed so much about the guards, Kerif would have had a harder time getting you alone._

Lesson learned.

Meanwhile, he needed to hold Kerif off as long as he could; there was bitter rage in the dwarf's eyes, yes, but not the hard coldness of a murderer.

Having been in battle, Fíli knew what complete evil looked like—and it wasn't in Kerif. Perhaps he could talk the lad down. He remembered what he'd heard him murmuring to himself in the cavern deep inside the mountain—"Thorin Oakenshield's selfish greed will be turned back upon his own heir"—clearly Kerif had felt wronged by his uncle at some point.

Maybe Fíli could fix this yet.

"Lieutenant, what are you doing?" he asked, carefully.

"I'm going to kill you," Kerif said again, eyes alight with rage.

"Yes, but why?"

The lad paused, a look of confusion passing over his face. "What?"

Fíli shrugged. "If I'm going to die, I guess I'd just like to know what for."

"You're not—not going to try and stop me? Kill me? Call your guards?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't do those things," Fíli stated. "But before I decide whether to kill you or call the guards, I'd like to know why you're doing what you're doing." He stood, fixing the lad with a stern look. "Your answer could save your life."

* * *

Kíli sat at the small desk in his room, writing. He had two missives to send today, one to his mother and one to Fíli, and his mother's was written already. Kíli hoped to leave the inn just after sunrise, so it was rather dark still. He was almost grateful Raela had spirited Ryn off to her own room the night before; he wouldn't have liked to interrupt her sleep with his lit candles and rustling parchment. The lass had lost enough sleep on his account over the last few days, and she needed every minute of sleep she could get.

He tickled his chin with the feather end of his quill, trying to figure out how to word this missive so that Fíli didn't blow an artery when he read it. He thought about writing it formally, like Balin would recommend; then dismissed that thought almost immediately.

If he gave news like this in a formal tone, Fee would definitely call out the entire army to catch them on the road and check on him.

_Brother,_

_Please sit down before you continue reading._

_Are you sitting down yet?_

_Seriously. Sit._

_Since leaving Erebor, we have of course run into spiders and orcs, as expected. We were nearly out of danger a few days ago when our camp was overrun by mound-wraiths; which wouldn't have been an issue, except the morgul poison within my blood reacted quite badly to them. I fell ill again, just like in Laketown._

_Fortunately, Ryn had some athelas, and that solved the morgul poison problem—but it took almost four days for me to recover enough strength to travel again. Lord Elrond came and helped; apparently once the morgul poison is tamed with the athelas, Ryn can use her magic to infuse my body with enough energy to heal faster._

_But there is more, dear brother, and I pray you stay seated for this part. Lord Elrond told us the morgul poison calls to dark creatures near me, drawing them to us, and that this sort of thing probably will happen again—likely a few more times on this trip. Ryn is armed with plenty of athelas and, of course, her magic; but I won't lie to you, nadad, I'm terrified. _

Kili stopped writing before he confessed to his brother all his fears. He couldn't shake his terror—what if Ryn couldn't reach him in time? What if she herself was hurt?

He would become a wraith, a servant of the Darkness, a shadow of himself.

And it could happen within hours, according to what Ryn told him about this last episode.

He shuddered, and continued writing.

_However, Ryn and the others are confident we can finish the quest and bring mother home. We're nearly there already, Fee, I'm not turning back now. _

_Also, as you are King Under the Mountain and the protection of Erebor is a task you must hold close to your heart; you should know that somehow, Lord Elrond says, the Mountain protects me. My coming home will not draw an army of dark creatures to us. _

_I miss you, Fíli, please take care and try to get enough rest, yeah? _

_Much love,_

_Kee_

Reading through the Khuzdul runes—written so in case the missive was intercepted—Kili stood and gathered both notes and headed out into the early morning light. He shivered; it was still rather chilly in the mornings, and held up his arm. With a sleepy quork, a large raven flew to his bracer and landed a little clumsily.

"Good morning, Qir," he murmured. "I hear I have you to thank for Lord Elrond's hasty arrival."

The bird rubbed its beak against his arm affectionately. "Fledgling is healthy. Fly, fly fast to help Fledgling."

Kili chuckled. "Thank you, yes, I am healthy now. I have another message; will you carry it?"

Qir brightened. "Carry message for Fledgling? Message to Golden King?"

"Yes indeed. It is a long journey; are you willing?"

"Carry message to Gold-Lit Halls, see Mountain Flock and then find Fledgling again!" Qir cawed happily. Kili laughed out loud and tied the missive to Fíli to Qir's leg. It was tucked into a tiny leather pouch and sealed with a bronze buckle.

"Before you go, Qir, I need one more raven. Are there any others awake?"

Qir nodded, mincing about for a bit of attention from his favorite prince before he left. Kili smiled and stroked his glossy feathers for a minute, then laughed, "Off with you, lad, it's a long flight to Erebor."

"Goodbye, Fledgling!"

He smiled, waving, and then held up his arm again, welcoming a smaller hen that ruffled her feathers shyly at him. He hadn't met this one before, and she trilled in his ear, "I am Nynyk, you are Fledgling."

"Hello Nynyk," Kili crooned. "Will you carry a message to my Nest-Mother in the Blue Mountains?"

"Blue Mountains?" Nynyk muttered, confused. Kili tried to remember what the Ravens he had sent ahead before called Thorin's Halls.

"Stone Home," he said softly, and the hen trilled her understanding.

"Stone Home is far into the Night-Sun," she said. "Night-Sun, Fledgling?"

_Night-Sun? Sunset, maybe? The sun sets in the west_…he supposed it made a sort of sense.

"Yes. West. Sunset. Night-Sun. That's right," he murmured. "Go to the Stone Home and give this to someone in a Black Tunic," he said, remembering the black uniforms of the guards there. One of them would make sure the note found its way to his mother. "Black breast-feathers, understand?"

"Nynyk understand," the hen nodded. "Happy to help Fledgling Prince."

Kili couldn't help but smile.

* * *

Kerif looked as though he was reconsidering this particular venture—obviously he hadn't planned for Fíli to initiate a _conversation_ before the violence began—but shook his head and growled, "Your uncle killed my family!"

Fíli tilted his head, encouraging the guard to go on. "How?"

"He—well, he did!" Kerif said again, the knife in his hand lowering an inch or two.

_That's it, lad, just keep talking…_

"How?" Fíli repeated.

"He refused to buy our wares!" Kerif nearly shouted, his eyes shining now with what Fíli recognized as unshed tears. He couldn't control the blank look that came over his face at Kerif's declaration.

_He…refused to buy your wares?_

"_What?"_ he asked stupidly.

Kerif shook his head again, as though trying to drag himself out of horrible memories. "It was seventy winters ago," he said, the dagger lowering a few more inches. "I was just a dwarfling still, and my family were merchants. We travelled between all the dwarf settlements as often as we could—the Blue Mountain settlement was one of our largest stops. We always made enough coin there to last us through the winter, counted on that income to keep us from starving."

"That year, Thorin refused us entry—not only would he not allow us to sell to his settlement, we weren't even allowed inside!—and it destroyed us, in the end. We ended up in some tiny town of Men that winter, instead of making our way to Emyn Muil like we usually did, where both my parents and my younger sister were overcome by the Winter Plague. It nearly killed me, too—" here the guard held out his left hand, and Fíli saw it shaking tremulously—a common sign that someone had suffered from the Winter Plague. "—but somehow, I was spared." Kerif swiped at a tear. "Not _one_ day goes by I don't think of them, wish I had died too, wish ill on the entire Line of Thorin Oakenshield—if not for his tight-fisted greed, my family would still be alive!"

Fíli shook his head. He remembered that winter, so long ago, when he was only twelve years old. He'd been a mere dwarfling himself, but he'd known something was terribly wrong, people were sick and freezing and starving.

And it had been the first time he nearly lost Kee.

"Kerif, I was there. Do you know why Thorin denied your family entry to our settlement?"

The lad paused, unwilling to admit he did not.

"He denied entry to _all_ merchants that year, and we had to get by only on what we had in the settlement. It was a bad year, Kerif, and there was a bout of Winter Plague going around—as you know, highly contagious and potentially lethal. He kept your family—and the other travelling merchants—away to spare them, and to keep them from spreading the disease to other dwarf settlements. My own brother nearly died from it that winter." Fíli shuddered at the memory. "The decision was made not out of greed, but out of a desire to protect, Kerif; and our people suffered harshly for it. There was not nearly enough medicine, food, supplies—we were hungry, cold, and sick the entire winter."

Kerif looked stunned.

Fíli sighed. "Come now, Kerif, don't do this. Revenge—justified or not—will not bring your family back."

"But you don't know what it's like, being without them!" Kerif shouted. "You _have_ your family! Even with Oakenshield gone, you have your brother and mother!"

"And I thank Mahal for it every day," Fíli said. "But I know others who _have_ lost everything; you can move past it and live honorably, make your family proud to look upon you from the Halls of Mandos. You do not have to do this, Kerif."

The lad shook his head, throwing off Fíli's words, and charged him with a scream of agony. Fíli sidestepped, avoiding the ill-timed blow easily and racing for the door as Kerif struggled to regain his balance. The lad hollered in consternation and threw the knife just as the door flew open from the outside.

Dwalin and Frâr charged in, the older dwarf not even stopping as he crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed the lieutenant in an unbreakable headlock. Frâr seemed momentarily incapacitated, staring at his second-in-command as if he didn't even know him.

Which, he reflected, he evidently didn't.

"Kerif?" he murmured faintly. "How could you?"

"How could I not?" Kerif shouted back. "They're _dead_! Dead, because of Oakenshield! Besides," he said, giggling a little madly. "It matters not if I kill him or I don't. I wanted the honor, but if you stop me, someone else will take my place. The Master's plan will not suffer overmuch due to my lack of competence."

Frâr had heard enough. "Take him to the dungeons!" he barked at Dwalin, forgetting the warrior outranked him, if by nothing else than his greater age and experience. Dwalin looked entirely pleased to do as requested, though, and dragged Kerif out by the scruff of his neck, like a misbehaving dwarfling, past his men and through the halls of Erebor into the dungeons.

Frâr finally turned to his King. "We'll get more information out of him, sire, find out who this '_Master'_ is—my King?"

Fíli sat heavily on the floor, feeling rather dizzy and sick. His shoulder hurt.

It hurt a lot.

Frâr gasped at the blood on Fíli's back, only now realizing that Kerif's aim had been true, if not perfect. The blade was buried in the King's right shoulder—a wound likely not fatal, unless the blade was poisoned, but serious enough to call for concern.

"Get a healer!" he shouted to the nearest guard, Rorti. "Hold on, Fíli, you're all right." He pressed his hand over the wound, around the blade, careful not to jar it. Fíli cried out, blinking rapidly in an attempt to stay conscious. It was at that moment Balin came running into the room, looking pale as a wraith.

"Fíli!" he shouted, crossing to the lad and examining his wounds, breathing hard. "Fíli, oh Mahal, I'm so sorry for leaving you, I did not know!"

"Want…Kee…" he whimpered, and Frâr's heart broke a little at the look on the old dwarf's face.

"Kíli isn't here, lad," he murmured. "He's gone to get your mother, remember? He'll be back soon. You just stay awake, eh?"

"Right," Fíli murmured, but his eyes were drooping.

The healers arrived then, pushing Frâr gently aside as they surrounded the King. They moved him out of the room a few moments later, on a stretcher, and Balin went with him.

Frâr stood alone in the room, gazing aimlessly forward, his King's blood drying on his hands.

* * *

Kíli and his crew were ready to leave, after a three-day stay at the inn, and the Prince was eager to be off. They'd lost too much time due to his morgul wound, and he was determined they should make it up. He had discussed it with Telchar that morning; they could still make it to Ered Luin by the first of March _if_ they did not stop to rest in Bree as planned, and _if_ everything went according to plan. Everyone had agreed that they were ready for the last leg of their journey—two weeks through Buckland and the Shire—and that stopping again would be unnecessary.

Kíli worried, though, about what Lord Elrond had said. If his morgul wound drew evil to him, perhaps the next two weeks would not be as easy as they had planned.

Unbeknownst to him, Ryn stood at her pony's side just behind, tightening her saddlebags and musing on her own solution to that problem. It could not work long-term, but maybe for the next two weeks, until they reached the relative safety of the Blue Mountain Settlement…

The dark ones would not come too close if she focused on brightening her aura while they travelled. It would exhaust her, she knew, and she didn't know _what_ they would do at night; but Buckland and the Shire were well-guarded, and she would just have to pray to Mahal that the Men patrolling these lands were as competent as she'd known them to be.

"Well. Some people never change," the familiar voice came from behind her. "But then, others do; and I must say, _N__â__lom__í__th_, you have changed a bit since last I saw you."

Ryn spun on her heel to see a tall man in Ranger gear looking down at her with a crooked smile on his face. Gray eyes were set deep in a wrinkled, leathery face above a nose that looked to have been broken at some point. Dark hair streaked with gray peeked out from the Ranger's hood, curling about his face, giving him something of a boyish, mischievous look despite the wrinkles. A long thin scar ran up the left side of the man's face, from his jaw up into his hairline. Ryn grinned.

"You're one to talk, _T__â__rikhan__û_," she laughed, pushing the man playfully in the chest. He laughed and embraced her, heedless of the weapons of four dwarves and a hobbit uncertainly pointed at him.

Ryn pulled back. "You have gray hair, _mellon_! When did that happen?"

"I am growing older, little one," he responded. "But I am not old yet, so don't get any ideas in that silly head of yours!"

"Ryn?" Kíli spoke up from behind as the girl opened her mouth to speak again. She seemed to become aware of everyone else then, and laughed. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Everyone, this is Aran; he is a Ranger of the North." She took Kíli's hand. "Aran, these are my friends, and this is my _zir__â__n_, Prince Kíli of Erebor." Aran bowed to each of them in turn, exchanging names and greetings, saving Kíli for last.

The young prince stood tall and stern as the Man bowed respectfully, holding his gaze and noting how Kíli's hand tightened on Ryn's waist. He smiled as he straightened. "My Lord Prince, it is an honor indeed to meet one of the House of Durin. Word has reached our ears of your victory against the dragon and against the Necromancer's army; we are glad to see Erebor once again in the hands of those to whom it belongs."

Kili relaxed a bit. "Thank you, Master Aran. Forgive me, but how do you know Lady Deorynn?"

Gray eyes twinkled. "So it's 'Lady' now, is it? I told you someday it'd be so, did I not, _Nâlomíth_?" Ryn was blushing, but the man hastened to answer Kíli's question, still smiling. "Lady Deorynn and I met on the road many years ago. She was in a rather tight spot with some orcs, and I rendered as much aid as I could."

"By which he means he rescued me from a party of thirty orcs _by_ _himself_, and saved my life, among other things," Ryn smiled tightly at Aran, shifting a little closer to Kili.

"Bah!" the Man laughed. "You would have gotten out eventually. I just saved you some pain and annoyance is all."

"He's modest," Ryn muttered to Kili, who nodded.

"Well, sir, I am pleased indeed to meet a friend of Ryn's. Unfortunately, we cannot stay and talk; we are already departing here later than we ought."

"Oh, no," Aran said, "I'm sorry; I haven't even explained what I'm doing here. Lord Elrond sent me to accompany you, should you wish it."

"He what?" Kili asked sharply.

Aran nodded, entirely undisturbed by Kíli's change of tone. "He said you might need an extra guardsman, that you'd had a bit of a run-in with some mound-wraiths and had reason to believe they may track you? He wouldn't give me more information than that, and I've never heard of mound-wraiths tracking anything; but I trust him, so I came to find you."

"I am sure we appreciate it," Kili began, "but—"

"Kili," Ryn whispered. "Can we talk about this?"

He drew her by the arm several feet away. "What's there to talk about?" he hissed. "The elf-lord overstepped his bounds."

"Perhaps he did," Ryn granted. "But I would feel much more comfortable…"

"Why? We have five fierce and well-trained dwarf warriors in our company. Plus you!"

"The dark creatures care not how many warriors there are amongst us!" she hissed back. "I can only hold them back when I'm awake, and that itself will be exhausting, Kili, we're going to need someone more familiar with the area to keep them from getting close to you—"

"Why will it be exhausting?" Kili sounded confused. Ryn pinched the bridge of her nose.

"My magic can hold them back, warn them off. But I can only maintain it when I'm awake. It takes extra energy, Kili, like holding your hand above your head without resting for an entire day."

He blinked. "You…_that's_ how you're going to keep them away?"

She shrugged. "It will do for now. We'll figure out a more permanent solution once we get back to Erebor—like ridding your body of that poison entirely."

"Lord Elrond said—"

"—Lord Elrond is not descended of the Master Healers," Ryn interrupted. She stroked his cheek, her fingers trembling. "If there is a way to fix this, Kili, I _will_ find it. I swear it to you."

Kili pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "I know you will. But for now, it would help you if that Man came along?"

Ryn smiled. "Rangers are accustomed to dealing with the very creatures we need help avoiding, so yes. It would help us."

Kili considered for a moment before turning back to his waiting company, and the Man who stood watching silently.

"We appreciate your offer, Master Aran, and would be most pleased if you would accompany us."

"Excellent!" the Man rubbed his hands together. "I'll just go fetch my horse."

Kili mounted his pony, his glare daring any of the company to question his decision—no one did—but the look softened when he saw how relieved Ryn was.

Apparently she understood more about his illness than he did.

He would have to do something about that in the near future.

* * *

Dis smiled tightly as she walked through the central marketplace of Thorin's Halls, calling greetings to the vendors and customers as they passed her, bustling about, many of them preparing to leave with the caravan in the next two weeks.

She waved to the young warrior she was looking for, calling out to him. "Rognus! Lad, come here!"

Rognus' hazel eyes brightened when he saw her, and he ran over, bowing low by way of greeting. Rognus was a quiet one—perhaps that was why he and Kili got along so well, she mused—and the younger dwarfs often teased him about it; but Dis had found that the lad didn't say much because he was busy observing and thinking. He was smart as a whip, that one, and didn't feel the need to advertise the fact.

He was also deadly in a skirmish. Unlike either Fíli or Kíli, who relied heavily on instinct in battle, as they'd been taught; Rognus was a tactician, given to studying his opponent and finding ways to surprise them. It led to some moves she'd seen him pull in the training ring—and in the one real battle she'd witnessed him in—that were not considered the most honorable.

But given that one such move had saved her life, she was prepared to defend the lad to anyone who had a problem with his methods.

"My Lady Dis," the boy was greeting her with one of his rare smiles. It amused her that one so serious had so easily befriended her mischievous, constantly-laughing youngest son.

"I have a request to make of you, lad."

Rognus nodded. "Anything, my Lady."

She handed him a missive from Kili that she had received—via raven, no less!—that morning.

_Dearest Mother,_

_There was a bit of a hang-up in the Lone-Lands, and our party has been at the Forsaken Inn for three days—far longer than we anticipated. We will not stay in Bree as planned, but press on for Ered Luin. Even still, we may be a day or two late getting to Thorin's Halls._

_I am sorry, Mother, the road is more dangerous for us than even I realized. We are being careful, but I am impatient to get to you. I cannot wait to see you again._

_All My Love,_

_Kili_

Rognus frowned. "What sort of hang-up is he talking about?"

Dis looked at him. "I don't know, that's all I've received. I don't like the sound of it."

"Me neither." The lad looked back at the note. "He misses you fiercely. Kili doesn't normally let that much fear show in his tone. Something bad has happened."

"That is what I feared," Dis closed her eyes against the sudden nausea she felt.

"What would you have me do, my Lady?"

She opened them. "Take Gimli and meet them in Duillond. The Shire and Buckland are safe enough, but I'll not have them waylaid two days' ride from here."

Rognus nodded sharply. "Consider it done. Both of us have been itching to do _something_ for weeks now anyhow."

Dis didn't doubt it.

* * *

_Nâlomíth_—"Shadow Girl-Child" (Adunaic)

_Târikhanû_—"Pillar Man" (Adunaic)

_Zirân_—"Beloved" (Adunaic)

* * *

A/N: Hello all! I hope that satisfies that evil cliffy from last night. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed meeting a couple of new people this chapter!

Art prompts for this chapter can be found on my "My Hobbit AU!" board on Pinterest (just google River Steele Pinterest and you'll find it). This chapter has "A Ranger of the North" (prompt for Aran), "Affection" (Ryn and Kili's forehead kiss, dawww!), and "Tribal Knife and Sheath by Rick Marchland" (prompt for Kerif's dagger).


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: You can see art prompts for all our newest characters on my My Hobbit AU! Board on Pinterest, if you like! There's Ryn, Rognus, Sêla and Anora, Nireth…

HUGE thanks to **summerald** for her advice and being such a pal! If you haven't already, you should definitely check out her work—it is well worth reading!

This chapter has a bit of everything—action, a little fluff, and dwarfy stubbornness! Enjoy! Feel free to review or PM if you like!

* * *

Aran's presence justified itself over the next few days, as it seemed every step Kíli's company took was harried by bandits, roving small bands of orcs, or wolves with glowing red eyes—but not wraiths, thank Mahal. The Ranger couldn't believe it; he said more than once to Ryn he'd never seen any party so set upon by evil creatures, and asked what they were carrying that drew the monsters to them.

Ryn never did tell him, as far as Kili knew.

But their closest call yet happened the third night on the road west of Bree, when the mound-wraiths came calling again. Their eerie cries echoed over the grasslands; and Kíli stiffened next to Ryn where she sat leaning against his shoulder. She jolted upright, ordering stiffly, "Bilbo, Telchar, Farin; guard Kíli. Gloin, Aran, Ibón, you're with me. Raela—have the athelas ready."

Without waiting for a response, she shot off into the darkness. Everyone scrambled to do as they were asked; everyone save Kili, who stood slowly and nocked an arrow, shifting his weight into a ready stance.

Kili saw the ghostly figures ahead of her and to the right. He could really only see her silhouette vaguely as she yanked an arrow from her quiver and nocked it, shooting swiftly, killing two of the creatures before they figured out where the threat was. Their screeches grew louder when they attacked, swooping down upon the small party standing between them and their prize.

Kili clutched his bow so tightly his knuckles turned white, and clenched his teeth. This was _not_ how this was supposed to be. He hated standing on the sidelines, unable to fight, unable to protect his friends and his beloved.

He _hated_ it.

He stared intently into the darkness, trying to follow everyone's progress…oh, who was he kidding? It was Ryn his eyes searched for, her voice his ears strained to hear.

He heard Aran shout something, and a cry of alarm from Ryn—he shifted, holding himself back from charging forward into the fray. The battle was not within range of his bow; he could do nothing from here.

Bilbo reached out and gripped the Prince's arm, both to comfort and to hinder. Kili nodded to him, once, to let him know he wasn't going to do anything foolish.

_Yet_.

But moments later, it was over; the four who'd gone into the darkness to protect Kíli staggering back, breathing hard. Ryn was bleeding, holding a hand over her cut shoulder while trying to check a slash on Ibón's arm. He jerked away from her with a short, "I'm fine, lass."

She stopped, blinked, and then sighed as her eyes searched for Kili. When she found him, standing and healthy, the sheer relief he saw propelled him forward. He drew her into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin, burying a hand in her hair and drawing her close with the other around her back. She came willingly, clutching his tunic in her hands, and he felt her let out a trembling sigh.

"I'm all right," he whispered into her hair. "I'm okay, Ryn, I'm right here."

She nodded against his chest.

"What happened out there? I heard you cry out."

Ryn gave a shaky laugh. "I lost both my daggers when one of them hit me in the chest. It was…" she shuddered, "...icy cold and I couldn't breathe. Aran guarded me while I was down and then lent me a sword once I was up."

Kili tightened his arms around her and she burrowed into him. "I think I'm going to need to learn to use a sword at some point."

* * *

Fíli stifled a groan as he stood from his desk, adjusting his arm in its sling, eyeing the Captain of his Guard carefully. Frâr had been pretty quiet the last few days, since the incident with Kerif. Fíli wasn't really surprised; he knew the Captain had taken the Lieutenant under his wing and treated him like kin, so it was pretty similar to being betrayed by a brother.

Fíli could not _imagine_ his anguish if Kili ever did to him what Kerif had done to Frâr. He figured he would've likely gone mad.

Frâr had seen him looking and turned a bit pink in the ears. "My King?"

Fíli decided a direct approach might be best. "Frâr. You seem troubled."

The lad blinked, hard. "Yes, sire. I apologize if it distracts you."

"Not at all. I want to know how you're doing. Have you any other family to help you through this?"

Frâr looked at him. "I have a sister, sire, but she is staying with a foster family in the Iron Hills until Erebor is more well-established. I hope to bring her here by summer."

Fíli smiled. "What is her name?"

"Fria, my Lord."

"Come, Frâr, enough with the 'my Lords' and 'Sires'. Sit down, and just talk to me. Please?"

Frâr hesitated, but then sat, letting a small smile show. "I could use someone to talk to at the moment."

"I thought as much," Fíli nodded. "Tell me?"

"He was like a brother to me," Frâr began slowly. "I honestly still can't come to terms with the Kerif I saw in this room the other night. Could he have misled me for so many years? Am I really that blind?"

Fíli shook his head. "You cannot go there, Frâr, even in your own head. It'll drive you mad. Kerif made his own decisions, and misled a _lot_ of people in the process. And I don't think the lad is entirely evil, only bitter enough to make bad decisions."

"He tried to kill my King," Frâr stated flatly. "That makes him evil enough for me to not be able to accept."

"He is your brother, even if only in your heart."

Frâr shook his head. "My brother is dead. That creature in the dungeon is no brother of mine."

Fíli's heart ached fiercely with the echo of the grief of lost kin; so he sat with Frâr all through that night and well into the next morning. Sometimes they spoke, sometimes they did not, and more than a few times Frâr shed tears.

Fíli let him, simply offering silent support to a dwarf who was as lonely and frightened as he.

* * *

Sêla found Anora outside the Halls in the forest the next evening, practicing with her battleaxe. She smiled; it was a pursuit their parents would never have approved of; luckily for Anora, Rognus was more than willing to coach her in the use of a battleaxe, going so far as to forge her one himself. It was a sturdy thing, but a little smaller and slightly lighter than the average axe, the better to fit Anora's size and strength. Sêla had only seen her use it in real battle once.

It had been terrifying.

Her sister was quite fierce in battle, as in all things; and Sêla thought, not for the first time, that it was a shame her parents' plan for Anora involved simply marrying for political gain and turning out dwarflings.

Her sister was made for so much more than simply being a pawn.

Anora spotted her and finished with a swing that drove her axe several inches into the nearest tree trunk. She smiled as she yanked it free.

"Good afternoon, _namad_."

"Hello, Anora." Her older sister motioned for her to sit down beside her in the short grass. Sêla did, and Anora threw her arm about her shoulders.

"Everything all right?"

Sêla shrugged. With a sigh she lay back, tucking her hands beneath her head, bright red waves pooling on the grass, blue eyes fixed on the canopy of trees and the darkening blue sky beyond. It was quite warm, for late February, though the twilight brought with it chilly winds. They would need to go in soon.

Soon, but not yet.

"Tell me a story, Anora."

Her sister looked sympathetic—Sêla only asked for stories anymore when she was particularly frustrated or worn down. She lay back too, with a smile.

"Which one?"

"Ummmm…" Sêla looked over at her with a quirky smile. "The one about the time you ran away from home."

Anora laughed out loud. "Again?"

"It was one of the only times you had an adventure without me!" Sêla answered defensively. Anora just chuckled. "All right, all right, keep your corset on, _namadith_."

"Once upon a time," she began in a dreamy tone, and Sêla snickered. "There were two little dwarfling lasses. They lived in a large, warm, beautiful hall under the mountains of the West with their mama and papa. Though the lassies were sisters, they were about as different from one another as you can imagine.

"The oldest was named…" Anora looked about her for inspiration, settling on a small red flower. "…Poppy, and she was stubborn and high-spirited, with dark red hair and hazel eyes." Sêla was giggling next to her. Anora continued, name decided already. "The youngest, with fiery red hair and striking blue eyes, was named Laurel; and she was everything a parent could want in a child—obedient and smart and beautiful. Unfortunately," she added, looking her sister in the eye, "their parents seldom noticed, so busy were they trying to tame Poppy so that she could make a good marriage someday.

"One day, Poppy got so fed up with everything that she threw a few things in a leather pack and left the lovely Halls of their people. Laurel tried to stop her, told her it was a terrible idea and she would get hurt, but Poppy was impulsive and a bit arrogant; she thought she would be fine on her own. So she left."

* * *

Kili called an early halt that evening. The sun had not even set yet, but that afternoon's tangle with a group of bandits had left everyone exhausted, and Kili had decided that a few hours extra rest couldn't hurt any of them.

Gloin and Farin set to work building up a fire, while Ryn took Raela out to hunt. "You'll never get better if you don't practice," she said to the lass when she moaned, muscles sore and belly rumbling.

Kili was mending a hole in his worn travelling tunic when Aran sat beside him. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

_I have a choice?_

"Sure," he responded, determined to be friendly to the Ranger, if only for Ryn's sake. Didn't mean he trusted him, but he could spare some polite courtesy.

Besides. The Man _had_ saved Ryn's life the night before. So there was that.

To his surprise, Aran didn't try to ask him a bunch of questions, tell him stories, or even talk at all. He just sat beside him, humming as he whittled a block of wood into the rough shape of a bear.

Ryn and Raela returned a while later with a couple of hares and some squirrels, which Farin threw into a stew happily. Everyone settled down around the fire, as was their wont, while dinner cooked.

"Well, Ryn," Telchar announced with a smile. "I believe it is your turn tonight."

Ryn smiled, sat back against her saddle with her hands behind her head. "Hmmm. What do we feel like tonight? Adventure? Drama? Romance?"

Chuckles sounded over the campfire, and Aran spoke up. "_Nâlomíth_, you should tell them of your experiences in Ered Luin—that's where we're going, right?"

She nodded. "It is. I can certainly do that."

"You've been to Ered Luin?" Kili asked, but then remembered. "Well obviously Duillond, Fíli and I first met you north of there, but I mean…you've had business there before?"

"I have indeed," Ryn answered. "When I met you, I had actually just had a rather unpleasant experience with the very dwarves we're going to meet right now."

Farin looked up from his tack, Telchar's eyebrow cocked, even Bilbo sat up a little straighter. Ryn chuckled. "I suppose that's a story I have to start from the beginning."

"When I first started travelling on my own, I often would sleep just outside settlements—human or dwarf, usually—because it was marginally safer. Wolves and the like knew to avoid the hunters, and orcs wouldn't generally trip over me if there were guards nearby. I wouldn't go _into_ the towns very often, because I was still rather uncomfortable around people of any kind; but I would sleep just outside the borders, where it was safe.

"And that was exactly what I was doing in the Blue Mountains one night when I heard someone stumble by me. Wondering who would be daft enough to be travelling outside the borders of the Halls at night, I followed—far off and quietly, mind you. And it was a good thing, too, in the end."

* * *

Sêla closed her eyes, allowing Anora's words to paint a picture in her head as she spoke them.

"It was night, and Poppy snuck past the border guards easily—she knew all the secret paths in the surrounding forest, of course—heading east, thinking to catch the road by morning and make her way to the elven city by the river.

"She had been walking for about an hour when she heard an unearthly screech far behind her! Poppy began running, hoping to reach the caves in the hill to the East—she and Laurel had discovered them long ago, and they and their playmates often pretended the place was their own Hall to defend from marauding orcs—before the sun rose.

* * *

"Of course, it didn't take long for the orcs to pick up the dwarf's scent," Ryn said, and Kili winced. This didn't sound good. "A small pack of six of them started trailing the young one—I could see it was young, and small, probably still a dwarfling like me. So I drew out my throwing knives—still very new back then—and took them out. The last one screeched like an offended vulture, and when I finished with it, I realized the dwarf had started running, out of fear no doubt.

"I rolled my eyes and followed, not daring to make myself known, but determined this youngling wouldn't be harmed by enemies."

* * *

"Poppy ran as fast as she could for as long as she could, until suddenly—WHAM!" Sêla jumped. Anora grinned. "She ran straight into the chest of a huge orc chief who had picked up her scent!"

"Well, you can imagine, she screamed like a little baby when he smiled at her; backed up and turned to run, only to realize she was surrounded by the creatures! Poppy just about fainted, she had only some practice with a blade, but her small sword would be useless against these giant creatures, she knew. The orcs were barking at each other in Black Speech and laughing, jeering, moving closer.

"Poppy stood tall, deciding the only thing for it was to go out kicking and screaming, but determined to maintain her dignity at all costs."

* * *

"I saw them surround the little dwarf and got there as quick as I could. They were standing in a circle, mocking and jeering; and that was when I first figured out:

"It was a dwarf _lass_."

Gasps echoed around the campsite, while Aran grinned. He knew the story already.

Kili, on the other hand, looked a bit like someone had smacked him over the head with a frying pan.

"She was standing there, head held high, glaring at them all imperiously as they closed in—I remember wondering why she didn't look afraid at all, but didn't spend a whole lot of time on the thought, instead attacking with my arrows and knives.

"These were bigger orcs than I was used to dealing with, and there were more of them than I felt comfortable tackling on my own; but as soon as the lass figured out help had arrived, she dropped her pack and drew a long knife, wielding it like a sword and taking out several orcs before they knew what hit them.

"Between the two of us, the ten orcs lay dead within a minute or two."

* * *

Sêla was sitting up now, drinking in the story as if she hadn't heard it hundreds of times. "Poppy couldn't believe what had just happened," Anora said in a hushed voice. "But she couldn't see her rescuer. She turned in a slow circle, suddenly more scared than ever. She wondered if she had just been rescued by the orcs only to fall into the hands of something worse.

"Hello? She called. 'Who is there? Are you going to eat me?'

"She heard a giggle at that, and jumped, startled. 'Who goes there?!' she cried, trying to sound stern and unafraid. 'Reveal yourself!'

* * *

"The lass asked if I was going to _eat_ her," Ryn laughed. "I couldn't help but giggle, which she got rather offended at, I think. She ordered me to reveal myself; something I normally would've refused, but I could tell she was terrified. So was I, frankly. But she seemed less threatening than many dwarves I'd met, and maybe she was young enough not to care I didn't have a beard.

"So I stepped into the clearing."

* * *

"It was a _lassie_," Anora whispered. "The very last thing Poppy expected to see, a young lass a bit taller than she. She was armed with a bow and a belt of throwing knives, and stared outright at Poppy, barely disguising her consternation. 'What were you thinking?' she demanded, 'striking out on your own in the night like that?'

"Poppy was rather shocked to be reprimanded by someone her own age, whom she didn't even know; and responded, 'Well, you're obviously one to talk.'

"The lass said nothing, simply began gathering and cleaning her knives and arrows. 'Who are you?' Poppy asked."

* * *

"I told her my name," Ryn smiled, "and asked her hers. She responded that she was 'of the wind and sky, never-ending and blowing whither she willed'.

"I responded that she'd best blow herself right back onto the ground and help me pile and burn those orcs before the wolves showed up."

* * *

"Well _that_ got Poppy moving, and the two girls muscled the nasty orcs into a pile, and Poppy's rescuer set them on fire. Her name was—"

"—Deorynn," Sêla breathed. Anora nodded. "I'll never forget her. She saved my life, that lass did; escorted me home, though she refused to come into the settlement. I never did find out why."

* * *

"And she eventually told me her name was Anora, Daughter of Tefur. I say, Kíli, Gloin, did either of you know her? Just before I met you, Kíli, I had gone back to the Blue Mountain settlement in an attempt to see how she was. The guards were…less than cordial; later I realized it was because you all had just left and security was extra tight in Thorin's Halls." She shrugged. "It was no matter; I just hoped to see Anora."

Kíli's mouth was slack. "What?" Ryn demanded.

"Ryn…" he shook his head as if to clear it. "_Ryn_. Anora and her sister Sêla were playmates of mine and Fíli's growing up. More than that, even…they became dear family friends. Of _course_ I know Anora, and I've heard her tell of the odd lass that saved her from the orcs, but…we all kind of thought she was making it up, honestly. It seemed…impossible."

Ryn's eyes were wide. "Oh."

"You—" Kíli laughed breathlessly. "It was you all along."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: The Ring of _Ahyrunul_ is entirely **summerald's** idea and used with permission, 'kay? Also, she's a total rockstar, and just started her fifth story in the _Erebor, 3022_ series—you should hop over and check it out!

The only art prompt for this chapter is "Sunrise in the Shire", which you can find on my Pinterest Board (just search River Steele Pinterest and you'll find it) My Hobbit AU!

Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews; I appreciate all your perspectives on the story! Enjoy!

* * *

Fíli, King Under the Mountain, was brooding.

Kili likely would've smacked him upside the head for it, and his mother certainly would've boxed his ears; but neither of them was here, and he couldn't help it.

He wanted his uncle. He wanted his brother and his mother too, but right now, he really wanted Thorin. Uncle would've known how to deal with an attempted assassination; likely would've shrugged it off as part of the job and gotten right on with his life. He also would've known how to get the information he needed from the assassin, rather than leaving the lad languishing in the dungeons whilst he tried to make sense of his council's advice.

"_My Lord, a firm hand is needed to address such a crime…"_

"_He must be given a fair trial!"_

"_Kerif is not even the problem here; we need to find out what we can about his Master. At any cost."_

"_He is a dwarf, not an orc! You can't torture him for information!"_

"_Who said anything about torture? There are other ways…"_

Balin had chased them all off before Fíli lost his composure and threw the lot of them out on their padded dwarven rears. Then he had put a heavy hand on the young king's shoulder and drawn their foreheads together in a gesture of fatherly comfort.

"You will be all right, lad."

"What do I do, Balin?" He'd asked desperately. The old dwarf had shaken his head.

"You must decide, Fíli; I cannot do this for you. Whatever decision you make, remember what kind of leader you once told me you wanted to be. Hmm?"

Fíli had nodded. "Fearless, but kind. Merciful, but undaunted."

"Very good," Balin had murmured. "Just keep that in the forefront of your mind, my King."

Fíli had spent all that night considering. He had trouble focusing, though; he didn't want to admit it, but the attempt on his life and the continuing threat that was implied by Kerif's ramblings had shaken him. He was no stranger to having his life threatened; but it had always been in a skirmish, battle, or situation in which he could see his opponent, could fight them outright.

This skulking, sneaking sort of threat was not something he was used to.

His unpleasant thoughts were interrupted by Frâr charging in with Balin and a young guard who held a large raven on his arm. The bird spread its wings for balance and squawked indignantly as the lad skidded to a stop before Fíli, saying breathlessly,

"My Lord! A message for you from the Prince!"

Balin stepped forward, concerned. "It's a bronze buckle, lad."

Fíli's stomach turned at the code—bronze buckle, while not as urgent as black buckle, meant something wasn't right. It seldom required any action on the receiving party's part, but was never a harbinger of good things and usually meant another update would be issued as quickly as possible. He opened the case, murmuring his thanks to the raven, and broke the seal on the letter.

_Brother,_

_Please sit down before you continue reading._

_Are you sitting down yet?_

_Seriously. Sit._

Well _that_ was comforting. Fíli sunk into a chair as he continued to read. His heart thumped painfully at the mention of Laketown, and that night he had come so very close to losing Kili forever.

He was in Ryn's debt again, it seemed, for saving the one person he loved most in the world.

When he finished reading, Fíli sat stunned. He had never heard of such a thing; a wound calling dark creatures to a person and the Mountain (or any location) being their only protection. However, he'd never known anyone who had been pierced by a morgul shaft, either, much less survived the process. In addition, he was quickly learning that the Mountain had many, many secrets and ties to the Line of Durin that he'd never known about.

He sighed, putting down the missive to see Balin, Frâr, and the guard watching him expectantly. He nodded at the lad.

"Thank you, Hari," he said gently. "You are dismissed." The lad bowed and made himself scarce.

Fíli looked up at his advisor and his Captain.

"He fell ill," he stated bluntly, and Balin sucked a breath in. "The morgul poison—it apparently summons dark creatures to him. We never noticed it here because the Mountain protects him, but….travel is exceedingly dangerous for Kili now."

"Lady Deorynn healed him?" Frâr asked.

Fíli nodded. "She did. And they are confident they can finish this mission and get everyone home safely."

"You believe that?" Balin asked.

"I do," Fíli answered. "I don't really have much of a choice."

* * *

Kíli's Company crossed the Brandywine River into the Shire early that morning. Both Aran and Ryn relaxed visibly when they were firmly on Shire soil, and Ryn told him when he asked that the hobbits' homeland was much more strictly guarded than even Buckland. Rangers passed unseen everywhere within the Shire, and on the fringes of it; meaning there was less danger here than there had been anywhere else on their road, save perhaps Rivendell.

"So are you going to relax your magic while we're here, then?" he asked, noting her pale face and dark-ringed eyes. He felt a pang of guilt; she was exhausted, doing everything in her power to keep him safe. But she shook her head.

"Not until we reach Thorin's Halls. It's not the Lonely Mountain, but it's still more defensible than a roadside encampment."

"You're exhausted, _idúzhib_. You should take the opportunity—"

"No," she said flatly. "Kíli, no. Don't ask me to let it go." The look in her eyes held more fear than he liked. More than he thought the situation warranted. "It's all I can do to protect you. Please," she murmured, "please don't."

He stared at her. "Ryn?"

She shook her head and spurred her pony forward, settling into a more sedate pace next to Bilbo. He could see the tension in her shoulders from here, and wondered what he could have possibly done wrong.

"Leave her be, young sire," Aran pulled up beside him, unbidden. Kíli tensed. The Man didn't see, his eyes firmly fixed on Ryn's back. "There are some pains in her past even I know nothing about; and I was nearby for this particular one."

"What pain?" Kíli asked, voice low.

Aran shook his head. "I can only tell you my part of the story, which is all I really know of it." Kíli nodded his understanding, and Aran spoke quietly. Gloin's boisterous singing (he was getting more cheerful by the day as they neared Ered Luin) kept him from being overheard.

"It was a few years after I'd met her," Aran began. "She was always a loner, even more so than us Rangers; didn't trust anyone, never spoke of her past. I only knew about any of it because she'd been half-delirious with pain and fever the night we met—when I rescued her from the orc camp. The things they did to her, Kíli…" he trailed off, shook his head. "But that is another story. Urízir was one of us; a Ranger of the North, son of my dear friend Gimilkhâd. He was young and rash and bitter when she met him, and somehow they became fast friends. At first, I approved of the friendship—Deorynn seemed to soothe his resentment toward the world. I don't know how it happened; but I do know the next time I saw her, Urízir had joined a band of renegades terrorizing the citizens of the north, Men specifically; Deorynn had refused him when he asked her to stay with them as well, but she was wavering. Instead of her healing him of his pain, he had exacerbated hers to the point she nearly lost herself.

"I talked her out of it, and Urízir gave me this for my efforts," Aran pointed to the long thin scar on his face. "Good came of it, though; that act proved to Ryn once and for all what Urízir had become, and she defeated him and saved my life."

"What happened to him?" Kíli asked, struggling with the idea of Ryn even _considering_ joining up with bandits.

"She didn't kill him, if that's what you're asking. He's out there somewhere. Probably near Evendim, his home had once been near there."

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Kíli wondered aloud, "What could have pushed her that far? To the point she would've been willing to become one of _them_?"

Aran looked grim. "I don't really know, Kíli. But I do know her protectiveness has known no bounds since then; it's difficult for her to give someone her heart, but once she does? She will do _anything_—even if it harms her—to save them. I think she believes she could've saved Urízir, and feels the necessity to never make that mistake again."

Kíli looked back ahead, where Ryn and Bilbo were riding; the hobbit waving his arms animatedly as he wove a tale for the lass, her green eyes sparkling in the mid-morning sun as she laughed at his antics.

Mahal, but he'd never seen such strength in a person before, save perhaps his mother. To have lived a life so full of pain and betrayal, yet to have become what she had become?

He loved her all the more for it.

* * *

"This mithril magic is slightly terrifying, you know that, right?" Fíli informed Balin as the old scholar stood excitedly over the circle of runes in the midst of a large hall that had been discovered last night. Balin was in his element, sussing out the mysteries of Erebor; but Fíli was leery about having this much power. This particular set of runes—which Balin had happily named the Ring of _Ahyrunul_—forced whoever was inside it to tell the truth when it was activated.

What would happen if they tried to lie, Fíli did not know. Nor was he eager to find out.

It seemed Balin disagreed. "Lad, it won't hurt you, you're the King Under the Mountain."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Fíli muttered to himself. To Balin, he said, "all right, what do I do?"

Balin grinned.

Fíli had the Ring and its uses learned within an hour, which was when Balin evidently saw his chance. "Fíli, I was thinking we should try this on Kerif."

Fíli blinked, hard, then immediately opened his mouth to tell Balin no. The old dwarf knew it, and interrupted before he could answer, "I know you're not thrilled about how this might work, but we _need_ to know who the Master is and what he wants from you. How to protect you, how to eliminate this threat once and for all. Fíli, please. This is important." Balin paused. "_You_ are important."

He was probably right, Fíli thought, and there was no denying the mithril magic was a powerful tool.

But power corrupted faster than anything Fíli knew, and he refused to allow himself to become corrupted. He had seen what the gold did to his Uncle, and continued to see what power did to Dain—turning his distant cousin from kin into an arrogant autocrat—and he swore then and there not to allow that to happen to him.

Vow made, he nodded to Balin.

"Bring him."

* * *

Rognus and Gimli stumbled into Duillond late that morning, their horses exhausted and the lads themselves needing healers and baths in the worst way.

Rognus cursed to himself as he dismounted and took in Gimli's pale face, blood-matted beard, and broken arm. "Blasted wolves," he was saying as he led his pony to the hostler, eyes alight with rage.

"Those were not normal wolves," Rognus corrected, remembering the glowing red eyes while assessing the damage to his own body. A few lacerations—one of which would definitely require stitches—bruised ribs, and a sprained, swollen ankle. He grimaced. "Not wargs either, they were too small."

"What were they, then?" the lad beside him asked.

"I wish I knew," Rognus answered. "What I _do_ know is you and I are going to go get that arm set before you hurt it worse."

Gimli made a face, scratching at his short beard with his good hand. "Elvish healing, bah! Going to try and magic me up, the lot of them."

Rognus rolled his eyes. "Gimli, you're just like your father. I promise I won't let them use anything but herbs and slings on you." He carefully threw an arm over the lad's shoulders, smiling down at him as Gimli gave a short bark of laughter.

The red-haired lad had been nearly beside himself with excitement when he found out Lady Dis _herself_ had requested he ride to Duillond with Rognus to provide more protection for Kíli (_Prince_ Kíli, he reminded himself) and his Company on the way to Thorin's Halls. He hid it well, young cadet soldier that he was; but Rognus knew it was there.

The trip had been relatively short—three days ride on shaggy mountain ponies—and easy enough, until the night before when the wolf-creatures had attacked. He and Gimli had fought hard, killing a few of them; but there hadn't been time to gather their camp gear before they barely managed to catch the ponies, mount them, and run.

Still, he reflected as Gimli yelped in pain when the young elf lass set his arm, at least they made it in one piece.

Though he was rather certain Master Gloin was going to have words for him once he saw the state of his son.

* * *

Frâr marched down to Erebor's dungeons firmly, refusing to let his feet falter despite the pit of dread in his stomach. The King's Chief Advisor, Balin, had discovered a hall with an odd mithril circle design in the floor—evidently it was magic to force one to tell the truth.

And they were going to use it on Kerif.

It made sense, a large part of him knew. They needed that information, and short of torturing the lad, there was really no other way to get him to give it up. Dwarves were hardy creatures, not easily intimidated or coerced. Getting information out of one without resorting to cruelty was difficult indeed.

Which was why the mithril magic made sense.

So _why_ was he feeling so upset about it, so….protective? Kerif made his choices; everyone else was left to respond in kind.

And yet it felt like a small betrayal to bring his former brother-in-arms up here to be subjected to Mahal-knew-what inside that ring of mithril.

_Still_. He was a soldier, and the Captain of the King's Guard. No one ever said his job was easy.

He nodded to the lads standing guard outside the dungeon, taking the thick key and letting himself into the cold hall. A fire roared in the giant fireplace at the end of the stone expanse, but it only heated the large block of cells to tolerable levels.

The dungeons of Erebor, while humane, had clearly not been designed with the comfort of their tenants in mind.

Frâr sighed as he reached Kerif's cell, unlocking the barred door.

"Come, Kerif, you've been summoned—"

He froze.

Then he blinked, stuck the lantern further into the small cell, illuminating the corners.

Blinked again, dropped the key. It resounded in the empty stone room with a tone of finality.

_Empty_.

Frâr ran.

* * *

The next morning found Kíli's company preparing to leave rather more slowly than they had been of late. Ryn tried to tell herself it was because she was tired and Kili had spent a rough night in the bedroll beside hers, fighting nightmares. They had watched the sun rise together, over the rolling gentle hills of the Shire, wrapped up in a single wool blanket and holding hands while she whispered gentle words of encouragement to help soothe his frazzled nerves.

But she knew the real reason she was dawdling, and it had nothing to do with Kíli or her own exhaustion.

Bilbo was leaving them this morning.

Their journey led them due east, while Bilbo and his pony were headed north on the road to Hobbiton, and from there, Bag-End. She knew he was eager to go, to get home; but she also noticed him moving more slowly than normal as he checked the buckles on his saddlebags for the fifth time.

Finally they could delay no longer. Everyone stood in a rough line, wishing Bilbo the best and sending him off with gifts. Raela had sewn him a new leather pouch for his pipe-weed after noticing his old one was rather worn and tearing. Telchar and Farin gifted the hobbit with a long knife that their fathers had forged together back in the Iron Hills. Ibón offered no gift, but gave the hobbit a hearty smile and a wish for safe roads. Gloin hugged him roughly, promising to come and visit, and pressing into the hobbit's hand a pendant that Ryn knew held a rare stone Gloin was quite proud to have acquired at a young age.

Kili placed a hand on either of Bilbo's shoulders and pulled their foreheads together in a dwarven embrace.

"We owe you a great debt, Master Hobbit. All of us. Thank you for being a true and wise friend."

Bilbo smiled. "And thank you for showing this old, comfortable hobbit the wonder of an adventure again. Though not everything turned out as either of us hoped, I wouldn't trade the last year for anything, Kili, Son of Durin." He pulled Kili into a quick hug, and Ryn heard her Prince murmur to the hobbit, "_Rasup gamat_, Bilbo; farewell and safe journeys to you."

Then it was her turn.

Ryn, while not usually a lass given to tears (not that one would've known it having seen her the last several months—these dwarves managed to bring out her emotions in quite an explosive way), was fighting the moisture gathering in her eyes when Bilbo stopped in front of her. He brushed a thumb across her cheek, catching a tear that had escaped, and made a little sound that was equal parts comfort and distress as he threw his arms around her.

"Bilbo," she choked, holding tight. "I will miss you so much."

He pulled back after a moment. "Now then, my dear, none of that. We shall see one another again soon. Why, I'm to drag Gandalf along to your wedding in a few months." She smiled, and Bilbo squeezed her shoulder. "You are a gem amongst ladies, dearest Ryn. I am honored to be called your friend. Promise me you'll write?"

She laughed. "I will. Thank you, Bilbo, for…_everything_."

He did not have to ask what she meant, only bestowed a gentle kiss on her forehead and mounted his pony.

Bilbo waved as he rode north, and Kili didn't have the heart to move on until the hobbit was well out of sight.

* * *

_Ahyrunul_—Khuzdul, "dishonesty"

_Rasup gamat—_Khuzdul, "farewell"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: So this one ended up being exclusively about Kili's Company; I promise we'll get back to Fili and Erebor in the next chapter, but it was just too long!

Many thanks to everyone who reads and reviews, follows and favorites. You guys seriously rock!

* * *

Kíli's Company managed to reach Duillond early the morning after Bilbo left them. Dis' missive had said Rognus and Gimli would await them at the Inn there, so that was the first place they went.

Duillond was something of an oddity among cities in Middle Earth; in good part because though it had been built by the elves, it was almost equally settled by elves and dwarves. For two races that had never really gotten along well, it was something of a challenge to manage living together without fights breaking out—a well-trained system of Enforcers worked with a City Council that consisted of both races to keep everyone in line.

Not that it was often necessary; the dwarves of Ered Luin were generally less caustic than their kin, and the elves of Ered Luin less pompous than some of theirs. Add to that the thriving trade and the peaceful hobbits that often visited from the Shire to contribute their business to the town; and no one was really eager to start any fights, as Duillond's continued welfare was a mutually beneficial thing for all parties involved.

Kíli couldn't help but smile as he rode through familiar streets. Both his and Fíli's first real trips away from home had been to Duillond to help their Uncle trade forged weapons and goods. The two had been relatively well-known amongst the dwarves there; and they had not forgotten him evidently, as many of them waved and called greetings, some bowing, as he rode by.

He returned the greetings and smiles, thrilled to be back in familiar territory.

However eager he was to reach his mother, though; all of Kili's folk, including himself, needed a hot bath and a bed to sleep in. Not to mention something to eat that wasn't cooked over a fire. And replenished supplies.

In other words, a day in town followed by a night in a bed was definitely in order.

Kíli let Telchar take care of room arrangements and Farin the ponies once they reached the Inn, while he looked around for his cousin and his friend. He was certain he'd recognize Gimli's red head just about anywhere…

_There_.

His face broke out into an involuntary smile as he spied Rognus and Gimli sitting on stools beside the road, caring for their weapons.

"Would you look at that?" he teased lightly as he approached. "Just as I left you, even if it is in a different town."

"Kíli!" Gimli jumped up and embraced him hard. "Where's my da?"

"At the inn, lad, itching to see you."

Gimli ran off, and Kili grinned.

His shieldbrother faced him, smiling past the look of sheer relief in his eyes. He drew Kíli's forehead to his and murmured, "We feared the worst."

He didn't have to say anymore, and Kíli just buried his fingers in Rognus' dark hair and settled into the dwarven embrace. "I am sorry, my friend, we sent word first chance we could."

The Prince pulled back. "Is everyone well?"

Rognus grinned. "Your mother is all but wearing a hole in her carpet with impatience to see you, Anora is as feisty as ever and fending off suitors, and Sêla is still her quiet and gentle self. Things have been, on the whole, much quieter since you left, my Prince."

"Ha! I wish I could say the same. And it's Kíli, Rognus; we've been friends for far too long to stand on ceremony."

"You must tell me everything," Rognus continued, throwing an arm round Kíli's shoulders as they made their way back to the Inn.

Kili caught sight of Ryn and motioned her over. "Well, to start, the most important thing that happened was that I found a lass willing to tolerate me." Ryn had arrived and smiled at Kili.

"Ryn, my shieldbrother Rognus. Rognus, my intended, Lady Deorynn."

Ryn turned her smile on the quiet lad and bowed, hand over her heart. "Master Rognus, it is a pleasure indeed!"

For his part, Rognus studied the lass before him. Her manners were good, at least. Her eyes bespoke kindness balanced by wisdom, an eagerness to help balanced by maturity, and most of all, love in abundance. He bowed back, flashed her a small smile to see how she would respond.

It was returned enthusiastically, and Rognus' heart lifted.

He could not wish anything less than the very best for Kíli, and perhaps this lass was it.

* * *

That night was spent in cheerful company, as Kili's crew rested and enjoyed a hot meal in the main room of the Inn. Gimli and Gloin were deep in their pints already, their joy at being reunited spilling over into a general cheerfulness that was unusual for the normally short-tempered redheads. Telchar, Farin, and even Ibón were thoroughly enjoying the sight; pulling out instruments when the singing started and beginning a lively dance tune. Rognus, flushed and bolder than usual with the ale in his veins, bowed to Raela and asked for a dance. Blushing madly, the lass accepted, and they whirled together on the wood floor.

Kíli smiled at the proceedings and held out his own hand to Ryn. She winked at him, and they danced until neither of them could breathe and they had to sit before they fell.

Kíli watched her, flushed, skin glowing, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes were alight with joy, her lips parted in a smile that he wanted nothing more than to press his mouth against.

And she let him, when she turned that smile on him and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He turned his head and caught her mouth, claiming it possessively as she hummed contentedly.

Catcalls and whistles had the lass pulling back, bright red now as the cheery, inebriated dwarves around them called out all sorts of suggestions that were probably less than proper. Kíli barely heard them, grinning at Ryn and tugging her back to him by her braids.

"All right, all right, you two!" Rognus yelled as he staggered back to the table. "Keep it safe for public viewing, yeah?"

Kíli punched his shoulder as he sat, nearly pushing the tipsy dwarf onto the floor. "You're just jealous, Rognus."

The hazel-eyed dwarf winked at Raela, who blushed again, biting her lip. "Hardly," he responded to Kíli with a wink.

The next morning, Kili's Company departed rather later than they originally planned; and Ryn discovered that she actually _could_ indeed heal a hangover using her magic.

She grinned at the thought of what Galaron would say to that.

The next two days of travel were ridiculously pleasant, Ryn thought. Rognus, and even Gimli, accepted Aran almost without question—evidently the Rangers had quite the reputation even in Ered Luin—and Ryn was quite sure Raela was entirely smitten with Kili's shieldbrother. Plus, the addition of young Gimli to their group had improved Gloin's mood to the point Ryn barely recognized him as the surly, grouchy dwarf who'd called her a coward the first time he met her.

On the whole, Ryn thought happily as she rode beside Raela on the third day out of Duillond, it felt like the worst was behind them.

* * *

"Well," Kili shut the flap to the tent door as he entered; blocking, at least a little bit, the biting wind and blowing snow outside. "It would seem we've landed ourselves smack in the midst of a blizzard."

"Are the ponies well?" Raela asked. The Prince nodded. "Safely tied under that big pine, next to Telchar and the fire."

Ryn shared a look with Aran that Kili didn't miss. "What is it?" he asked quietly, sitting down beside her and rubbing his hands together to warm them. She drew his cold fingers between her warm ones, turning to face him and leaning in so the others in their small tent wouldn't hear.

"This is no normal blizzard, Kili," she murmured. He stared. "What makes you say that?"

"You don't live in the wilderness for fifty years without knowing something about weather patterns," she answered, green eyes dark in the dim firelight. "There were no warning signs of this storm."

Kili, while he trusted her, still didn't see what was unusual about this. "Ryn, it's February. In the mountains of Ered Luin. In the north. A blizzard is hardly uncalled for."

"Perhaps not, but this one came on unnaturally," she shook her head. "I don't pretend to know what it means, if anything."

Kili cocked an eyebrow. "Then I suppose we'll just stay alert. Hopefully it'll stop snowing; I'm not thrilled at the idea of any more delays."

Ryn smiled a little at that. "Hankering to see your mother, are you?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Kili laughed. Ryn's smile tightened; and she looked down, studying his hands, intertwining their fingers restlessly.

"Do—do you think she'll like me?"

Kili blinked in surprise at the question; for indeed, it had never even _been_ a question at all in his mind. But, he realized, it was hardly surprising Ryn felt insecure about the meeting.

It wasn't as if she'd had parents to bring a lad home to, after all. And even if she had, how could she possibly have known what to expect from Dis, Daughter of Thrain?

He smiled and tilted her chin up, drawing her in for a chaste kiss—there were others in the tent, after all—and whispered, "Ryn, she will _love_ you."

"How do you—?"

But Ryn's question was interrupted by a cry of alarm from Telchar that drew everyone out into the blowing snow. The Iron Hills lieutenant was running toward them, waving his arms and shouting, though no one could hear him over the wind—wind which Kili just realized had gotten louder, taking on a new, more sinister sound. It seemed to him there were whispers on it, gentle stirrings that spoke of evil and cruelty.

He hadn't realized he was covering his ears until Ryn drew his hand away and shouted in his ear, "What are you doing?! Get inside, there are wolves!"

_I can fight wolves!_ He wanted to shout; but the odd whispers started again, and the fact that Ryn (and the others) clearly didn't hear them made Kíli leery.

So despite his anger at the necessity of staying put, he ducked back inside—but only to grab his sword. He stood guard over their small shelter, in which Raela—who, handmaiden or not, was still a dwarf lass and therefore, to be protected—hunkered down, armed with her dagger but not running out into the fray.

He hardly blamed her; the lass was no warrior.

_Kíli_.

He blinked against the snow, and in surprise. His name landed on his ears gently, carried by the harsh wind.

_Kíli, Son of Dis, Prince of Durin's Line._

Uncertain where the source of the voice was, he turned a full three-hundred sixty degrees, studying his surroundings with a practiced eye. The wind chuckled.

_I am not out there, young one. I am inside._

"Inside where?" Kíli questioned aloud, eyes still darting about. To his left, a spark of light appeared. Kíli stared as it elongated and stretched, grew larger, finally morphing into a bipedal, humanoid figure. Slowly, features came into focus—blue eyes that seemed to glow from within; a long, straight nose; regal bearing; long blond hair. The figure was dressed in sparkling mithril armor, as if for war, and wielded a long sword and a bow. He was impossibly tall as well; but somehow non-threatening.

Kíli lowered his sword, just a little.

_Inside your head, Prince. You may speak to me in your thoughts._

_-Who are you?-_

_I am the Acceptor of the Rejected, the Balm for the Hurting, the One Who Sees. I render strength to the weak, make the small do impossible deeds, and draw all to me with power and might._

_-That doesn't answer my question.-_

The figure before him smiled, fixing him with its deep blue gaze. _Most astute, Son of Durin. I am here because you need me._

_-Is that so?-_ Kili was liking the figure less and less as the moments passed, though he could hardly explain why. There was nothing threatening about him; on the contrary, he was a Being of Light, and most probably one of the Valar, or at least a Maia, perhaps.

Still, he prevaricated a bit much for Kíli's taste.

_It is._ The figure looked serious now, sad even. _You have recently acquired a wound that will affect you for the rest of your life, young Kili, and you're just beginning to note the repercussions of it. I can help you—I can remove the pain, give back the power and strength this wound aims to take from you._

Kili blinked, his interest well and truly piqued. He'd only recently begun to come to terms with his morgul scar—and accepting his inability to do certain things was eating at him, no doubt—so the offer very definitely appealed to him.

Still, something whispered to him not to trust a seemingly innocuous source simply because it looked non-threatening.

_-And what must I give you in return?-_

Another laugh. _In return? Nothing! Only your loyalty, your friendship._

_-Loyalty is earned, not given in exchange for favors.-_

There was a flash of something in the blue eyes—quick, but Kili felt, dangerous. His heart thumped in his chest, but he carefully kept any outward sign of his alarm hidden. _Mahal, protect me,_ he prayed silently.

_Indeed it is,_ the voice in his head continued smoothly, though slightly colder than before. _And is not rendering moot a wound that will have lifelong effect on you enough to earn such loyalty?_

_-It depends upon what you stand for. I'll not pledge unconditional loyalty to any but my King and Brother, and that's been done already.-_

_Will you not?_ Ryn's face rose in Kíli's mind. _Have you not already pledged yourself to this one?_

A low growl escaped Kíli's throat, unbidden. _–Leave her out of this.-_

_Ahhhh, so you have. _The blue eyes darkened to black while Kíli watched. He distantly heard shouting and looked around, only then realizing he hadn't looked away from the figure since they began talking.

His Company was fighting wolves—big wolves, with glowing red eyes and dripping fangs—and a picture flashed through his mind of Ryn being torn apart by them.

_They are holding back,_ the figure spoke again, and this time he seemed to Kili not a figure of light, but one of evil and malice; his hair as black as his eyes and set against scarred skin, mouth twisted cruelly into a smirk, sword dripping with dark red blood. _They will kill her instantly if I allow them to._

Kili felt his world close in. _–And I suppose that is the price for my refusal to cooperate?-_

_You really are astute._

_-Who are you?-_ Kili asked again. This time, the Dark One smiled, the gesture twisted and cruel on his face.

_My name is Morgoth, in the tongue of the Elves, though I was first called Melkor when I had a place among the Valar. I have come for you, Kili, son of Dis; the morgul poison that rests in your veins makes you mine as surely as your beloved is descended of the Eiri. You will join me, Prince of Durin; if not now, later, when life's bitter cup has left you broken and everything you love has been ripped away. I _will_ have you; and until I have you, I will haunt every step you take._

_-No.-_

Ryn screamed in the distance, but Kili found himself unable to look away from the cruelty in Melkor's eyes. _–No, you'll not have me. You tried once before and failed, remember? You'll fail again!-_

Melkor screamed his rage, reaching for the morgul poison so recently subdued in the dwarf prince's blood; Kíli doubled over, indescribable pain lancing out from his leg and into every nerve in his body. He was on _fire_, every bit of him burning; the poison clawing its way into his mind.

He ripped his focus from the dark Vala before him and looked around for his companions, choking on his cry for help. Ryn was fighting her way toward him, her eyes impossibly wide with terror; but he couldn't get to her as she was beset by five of the Beasts. Melkor boomed something in the Black Speech and the creatures redoubled their efforts to tear his beloved apart.

He fought, his eyes never leaving hers in those few moments that seemed to stretch into an eternity. He saw her realize she couldn't reach him; saw the fear spark into furious determination, saw her eyes light and her skin seem to glow—he recognized it as her magic, though he'd never seen it like this before—and he heard her shriek of rage.

Kíli struggled, breaking free of Melkor's grasp just as, in quick succession, a wild explosion and booming light struck their campsite, sufficiently weakening the Dark One long enough for Kíli to stumble toward Ryn, knowing he had only minutes before the poison took its toll.

* * *

Ryn could not believe what was happening. The massive figure that held Kili's attention was terrifying, and what was worse, she had no idea how to help him. The wolves were keeping her too busy to get near him, no matter her best efforts.

"Aran!" she called for her friend's aid. If he could help her beat off the wolves, perhaps she could get to Kili.

She recognized the Ranger's war cry before she saw him, and they fought together briefly; back to back, kicking, slashing, stabbing. Ryn's daggers whirled and whistled through the air, a fierce counterpoint to Aran's ringing blade.

One of the red-eyed creatures darted past her guard on the left and caught her arm in its jaws briefly. Ryn yelped in pain, but killed it half a second later.

Unfortunately, her cry had distracted Aran for half a second too long.

The biggest wolf of the lot saw its chance; it jumped, careening into the Man and knocking him to the ground while getting its jaws around his throat. Ryn barely had time to react before it sunk its teeth into his neck and yanked, growling. The girl's dagger found the wolf's skull a moment later.

But it was a moment too late.

Ryn screamed her agony at the sight of her friend's ruined throat—Aran was a good man, one of the few she'd trusted after Urízir, after everything; he was her friend. Perhaps, given time, she could have healed him as she'd done Kíli, though the Prince's wound had at least been a clean slice, not a ragged tear…

She didn't have _time_. The wolves were upon her again, and one missed move would have her joining Aran in the afterlife. She looked around, trying to see if there would be any more deaths to mourn tonight, and was grimly pleased to note everyone else was still up fighting.

Whatever small joy the sight afforded her was forgotten a moment later when the Dark…._Thing_…that held Kíli roared in fury, and Ryn turned to see her beloved's face contorted in pain, his aura darkening quickly.

_Too quickly._

She fought her way toward him, but it was like one of her nightmares: no matter how many of the evil wolves she killed, no matter how fast she ran; she couldn't _get_ to him. The creatures had long since abandoned the rest of the Company, focused instead on tearing Ryn to pieces. She was holding on, for now, but it was only a matter of time before she stumbled, or missed, or overshot…

A determination she'd never known filled her, and she had a split second to wonder at the feeling before every wolf around her dropped dead, and Ryn found herself holding a whole lot of energy she had no idea what to do with.

For a second.

She grinned, and threw the magic at the evil thing that had Kíli, the resulting explosion garnering a roar of pain from the creature; mere moments before she found herself facedown in the snow, gasping for air and blinking at the spots in her vision.

Stunning spell?

_Gandalf_.

She jumped to her feet, only to see the wizard already engaged in some sort of battle with the Dark One. Light and Darkness flashed and thundered against one another, creating a cacophony of sight and sound that was a bit disorienting. Ryn shook it off; Gandalf seemed to be winning, and she turned her attention to Kili.

"Raela!" she screamed. "Athelas!"

She vaguely saw the lass duck into the tent, but Ryn only had eyes for Kíli. He was writhing in pain—a sight Ryn had to admit she'd seen more of than she ever wanted to—gasping for air as he fought the poison yet again.

"Come on, love, hang tight. We're going to get you out of this. Just hold on as long as you can. Another minute, now…"

"There's no boiling water!" Raela gasped as she slid to her knees at Kíli's side. Ryn didn't take the time to explain; merely chewed the herb into a thick pasty mess before pressing it to Kíli's leg.

It was much the same as last time; Kíli's cries of agony, Ryn's gentle mutterings of the Eiri spell that would preserve his life, and with the added noise and percussion of the battle that continued between the Vala and the wizard.

With a final haunting scream, Melkor disappeared into the night, taking the blizzard winds and clouds with him. Ryn lifted her gaze from Kíli just long enough to see Gandalf sigh in relief, bowing his head to his chest in exhaustion for a moment.

"Ryn?" Kíli murmured her name, fevered and weak though he was. Satisfied the poison had been tamed for now, Ryn gathered some energy from the surrounding plants (and a few rodents) and transferred it to her beloved.

His eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright.

"Is everyone all right?"

_No_.

Ryn sat back on her heels, her gaze finding the body of her friend again. Without a word, she stood and walked on shaky legs to Aran, heedless of the others—greeting Gandalf, whispering the news of the Ranger's death, calling for her.

She fell to her knees beside his mangled body; apparently a few of the wolves had continued their assault even after Aran stopped fighting. Tears blurred much of the damage, though, and if she tried hard enough, she could almost pretend he was simply sleeping.

_Almost_.

She heard a soft wail of grief and was distantly aware it came from her, but she couldn't bring herself to care that she wasn't alone, that others could hear her.

Aran was dead.

Her protector, her friend, the one who'd kept her from making the biggest mistake of her life; gone, permanently.

Ryn curled in on herself, her head coming to rest on the Man's still, cold chest as she cried out her anguish.

* * *

You can find art prompts for this chapter (and sorta a teaser for the next one) on My Hobbit AU! Board on Pinterest (google River Steele Pinterest and you'll find it).


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

* * *

Ryn sat, crouched next to Aran weeping, for a long time. When she finally sat up, her face swollen and red from crying, and her heart too broken too care; she had decided he should be buried. It had seemed so important, she couldn't understand why Kili wouldn't let her just do it until she looked down at her fingers and realized they were frostbitten.

The snow around them had frozen hard as the temperature dropped; it was nearing midnight and getting colder by the minute. Ryn had been shocked to find herself shivering.

How had she gotten that cold without knowing?

"We will cover him with a blanket until morning," Kili had murmured, eyes pleading with her to see reason. "And then you can bury him, but please, Ryn, _please_…come inside and get warm."

She had nodded faintly. Walked inside and curled up in her bedroll. Lay there all night with her eyes wide open, facing away from Kili and refusing to speak.

The next morning, she had risen just as the sun did; but she had no appreciation for the sunrise that day, all her energy going into digging a deep enough grave for her friend. Kili had joined her, as had Telchar, Farin, Ibón, and Rognus.

Raela had helped prepare Aran's body, and the others had lowered him into the ground and helped bury him. When it was finished, Ryn stood over the new mound, marked by a six-pointed star that Gimli had carved the night before, forcing back the tears.

_Aran…I'm so, so sorry….Mahal, what have I done? Why could I not save you? _

She knew the answer, of course—there had been no time—but it didn't make the experience any less bitter. In fact, it made it worse; she had gotten used to the idea that she was descended of the Master Healers, that she would always be able to help those she loved who were ill or injured, that no harm could come to Kili so long as she was with him, because she would always pull him back, even from the edge of death itself.

Aran's death had driven home in the cruelest way the fact that she was not invincible.

She could not save everyone, always, and it _crushed_ her.

After a while, the girl turned and faced the wizard standing nearby, her eyes hard emerald green.

"Gandalf. What was Melkor doing here? The stories say he is imprisoned in the Great Void; has he escaped? And if so, what in Durin's name does he want with Kíli?"

The wizard placed a hand on her shoulder to stem the flow of questions. "Lady Deorynn, please. I will explain all I know to you." He eyed the rest of the Company, trying—and failing—to busy themselves and pretend they weren't eavesdropping. "All of you."

They all sat around the small fire Raela had started to make breakfast over, Ryn sitting stiffly beside Kíli—not as close as she normally would. He reached for her hand, but she pulled away with an apologetic look.

She saw the hurt flash in his eyes, and it almost broke her already-fragile composure that was holding hysteria at bay. She hadn't meant to pain him, but his touch—anyone's, really, but especially Kíli's—would immediately destroy the brittle wall she had built around her heart to hold it together. She could not account for what might happen if she melted into his arms the way she wanted to.

She'd probably never come out, preferring instead to remain safe in his embrace forever, where the pain wasn't nearly so debilitating and his warmth chased away the ice in her veins.

_Aran is not yet cold in the ground, and you're pining after Kíli's arms around you. Pathetic little waif_.

Ryn snapped her attention forcefully to the wizard sitting before her.

"Melkor _is_ in fact imprisoned in the Great Void," Gandalf began. "The Valar chained him there at the end of the Second Age, and there he remains even now." Forestalling Kíli's immediate protests that he had just _encountered_ Melkor, Gandalf held up a hand and continued.

"He remains there. But his Will is bent toward Middle-Earth, always, searching for those he can twist to his cause, those he can corrupt. You could say a piece of his spirit remains here, always seeking to bend events in Middle-Earth to His favor and bolster his strength. Doubtless he feels that someday he'll be strong enough to escape the Void and come back here for himself."

Dead silence reigned over the camp at that idea. Gandalf nodded, as if to himself. "Indeed, it is a frightening concept. But fear not, I do not believe he is anywhere near strong enough for that yet."

Kíli shuddered beside Ryn, and she resisted the temptation to scoot closer to him. "That was only a _portion_ of his strength?"

"A small portion, at that," Gandalf replied gravely. "The Necromancer's—_Sauron's_—defeat at the Gates of Erebor last winter weakened him greatly."

"What does he want with Kíli?" Ryn repeated.

"Exactly what he said he wants," Gandalf answered. "He wants Kíli as a wraith, a slave to his Will. Dwarves do not serve the Darkness easily, so it would be a great triumph for Melkor; but even more than that…as a Son of Durin, Kíli would have access to the magic that resides deep in the blood of his ancestral line—magic that ties them to the earth and stone far more surely than any mere sorcery. How strong do you think Melkor would be if he had the very stone beneath our feet at his command? Worse yet, how strong would he be with Erebor in his clutches?"

"No," Kíli whispered, his voice cracking. This time Ryn _did_ scoot closer, the horror in Kíli's voice drawing her to him, taking his hand and squeezing lightly. "No. He'll never have the Lonely Mountain. He'll never have the stone beneath our feet. He'll never have a Son of Durin—at least, not this one!" Kíli grew more agitated as he talked, and Gandalf gestured kindly.

"I do not doubt your determination, Kíli," he said gently. "Mahal knows, the streak of stubbornness in your blood is certainly not without its benefits, and this is one of them: that you are not easily swayed by temptation, nor easily coerced into anything you do not wish to do. However, the poison in your blood will prove problematic; as you have very little control over that." Gandalf's eyes softened, his face lined with compassion. "You have shown exceptional strength in fighting the morgul poison thus far, Kíli, but how long can you endure?"

"As long as I must."

Ryn's heart tore at the resolve in his voice.

_Oh Kíli…._

Gandalf was shaking his head and talking, but Ryn was hardly listening. The pain in her heart was changing; morphing into a hard determination that focused on one thought:

Melkor would _not_ have her beloved.

She would heal him; find a way to rid his body permanently of the morgul poison that made him a target of the Dark Vala.

And if there wasn't a way, she would make one.

And then she would stand beside him as he defeated Melkor's Will and sent that spirit right back into the Void where it belonged.

She did not know how she knew this, but she could see it clearly in her head, as if it were a memory and not a vision of a near-impossible future.

"…stay in Erebor," Gandalf was saying. She checked back in when Kíli tensed beneath her hand. "I cannot stay in Erebor forever!" he nearly shouted. "In fact, I'm not even convinced I ought to go back at all! What if I draw Melkor there? What if he gets access to the Mountain through simply my presence there? I cannot—"

"He will not," Gandalf answered sternly. "And you are safer—and therefore, all of Middle Earth is safer—when you are inside that mountain where the magic of your people keeps you mostly out of his reach." He locked eyes with Kíli. "You must trust me on this."

Kíli paused, then nodded, though Ryn knew the battle was far from over in his heart. "Fine. Very well. I will take my mother back to Erebor, and there I will stay." Ryn didn't think the others heard, but she recognized the bitter grief under his words, knew that being confined to the Mountain would be something Kíli would need all her love and support—as well as that of his brother—to get through.

There was a battle ahead for the Line of Durin, and Ryn determined right then that she would never leave their side through it.

Standing, she walked over to Aran's pile of things—things she had not yet had the heart to go through. They would be distributed amongst the Company or sold in Thorin's Halls—there was no need to waste perfectly good gear—but Ryn had buried a few things with him, and she had just decided what she was going to claim for herself.

His belt held a short sword—well, it was a short sword for him, anyway—that he had carried as a backup weapon. He seldom used it, as his primary sword—a dwarven blade—was much larger and more threatening, more suited to his size and strength; but the elven sword was old and masterfully forged. He had never named it, knew not where it came from, but always kept it on his right hip in case he needed it. It was the sword he'd lent her all those nights ago during the wraith attack.

She was certain he would've wanted her to have it.

Locating the sheath, Ryn drew the simple blade—black-hilted with the gentle curvature so often found in elven blades, reminiscent of a spring leaf—and held it before her, laid across her palms.

She turned to see everyone's eyes upon her, Kíli standing close by as if afraid she might try something foolish. She almost smiled.

_Almost_.

Instead, she hefted the blade and intoned softly, "With this blade, I pledge to drive back the Darkness with my every breath, naming it Naryaturë, Blade of Mastery over the Dark." She then placed the sword point-down into the damp earth and knelt, looking up at her Prince. "Kíli, Son of Dis, Prince of the Line of Durin: I swear never to abandon you or your kin in the battle against this Evil, protecting you with my heart and body, binding our fates by that which is stronger than blood."

Kíli recognized the oath—he must have, judging by the way he stilled and the conflicting emotions in his eyes—but he did not deny her. He took a breath to answer, but before he could, Ryn startled a little as Rognus knelt beside her. "Kíli, Son of Dis, Prince of the Line of Durin: I swear never to abandon you or your kin in the battle against Evil, protecting you with my heart and body, binding our fates by that which is stronger than blood," he murmured.

Both Gimli and Gloin followed him, Telchar and Farin after that. Ibón took no oath, which was not in any way dishonorable; and Raela simply stood and watched carefully to see if Kíli would accept their oaths.

Kíli blinked furiously, clearing his throat as he laid both hands on Ryn's head. "Deorynn, Daughter of Cora, Elf-Friend and Beloved of the House of Durin: I accept your oath and pledge to you one of my own; that I will never willingly abandon what you have pledged to protect, and that I will ever strive to be worthy of your devotion, binding our fates by that which is stronger than blood."

Ryn rose and stepped aside until Kíli had repeated the same oath to each of those knelt before him, and they all stood smiling. This rite, the Oath of Belhel, or the Bind of all Binds, was one not taken lightly by the dwarves. Legend placed its roots in the Second Age, during the War of the Last Alliance, when thousands of dwarves utilized the rite to bind themselves to their kin and close friends.

Ryn knew that there existed much speculation on the reason that so few dwarves had ever served the Dark Lord. It was often said that Aulë created the dwarves from stone, and so the unyielding nature of it was woven into their very blood. Part of that may have been true, but all dwarves knew the truth; that any one of them alone was not much stronger or resilient than the average human. What made dwarves so resistant to the Dark wasn't the fire in their veins or the stone in their spirits: it was that unbreakable bond of family—of kin, of close-knit friends—that Aulë had also built into their very natures. Like the bond the Vala himself shared with his wife Yavanna, the ties dwarves had with their kin was unshakeable and not contingent upon agreement with each other's actions.

And therein lay their strength.

The Oath of Belhel was simply an outward acknowledgement of this, uniting a group of dwarves in a common cause; often well past the time in which they accomplished their quest or goal. It was a bind recognized by Mahal himself, backed with the strength of the Valar in addition to whatever strength already lay in its individual members, creating a fellowship that was near-impossible to break.

And Kíli had just joined into it with six others, pledged to him until such time as Melkor's Will was turned aside and defeated from its purposes toward him.

The enormity of it was not lost on the Prince of Erebor.

Nor on Gandalf, it seemed, as the wizard sighed heavily; seeming to be both proud and worried as the group of dwarves (and the half-dwarf lass) stood before him.

"Well, that is done, and I must say I'm certain it can't hurt your cause, Kíli; but you must ride for Thorin's Halls. You'll be safer there, and your kin await you all eagerly. I will, however, leave you with a word of warning: remember, all of you, that Melkor is not a physical being. Your fight against Evil, tied as you are to Kíli now, will be one of spirit, one of courage and loyalty and resisting temptation; not one of _only_ axes and swords and shields. Do not falter in your heart, for _that_ is where this battle will be won or lost."

They nodded solemnly.

"All right," Gandalf said briskly. "Off with you, then! Durin's Folk await you!"

* * *

Kerif stumbled along, his Master behind him, driving him ever forward; north, north, north, far away from his kin and up into the unknown.

He stumbled, falling to his knees with a low cry as his balance was compromised by the bonds she had set him in nearly as soon as she'd rescued him from the dungeons of Erebor. His wrists were held tightly by silver rope, tied tightly to each other and to his waist, keeping him from utilizing them at all for balance—or to escape.

"Hurry up!" Yusräa growled. "It's bad enough I have to travel like this because you have no magic of your own; I did not free you so you could slow me down!"

_This is freedom? Mahal, what have I done?_

"Perhaps if you would untie my hands…"

The sorceress behind him snorted. "Why, so you can make a run for it? I think not. Stand up."

Kerif turned, falling deliberately onto his rump and staring into the cold black eyes of his Master. The self-professed Sorceress of Helcënost was not one to trifle with, but Kerif had just about had it with the entire bad-guy act.

The dungeons had afforded him time to think on what the King had told him, and he had begun to wonder if perhaps he'd been wrong to sign up for such a deal as Yusräa had offered him: gold, and lots of it, in exchange for the King Under the Mountain's head. Apparently, the lady had no interest in gold or riches, but instead was after the power residing in the Mountain. She'd thought that with Fíli dead, and Kíli gone, the Mountain would be receptive to her magic; then she could sit as Queen Under the Mountain, wielding a power Sauron himself hadn't been able to win.

Somehow, it had never occurred to Kerif before then what exactly that meant.

He had put the entire Dwarf race in danger with his gold-lust and blind resentment, and he was thoroughly and utterly ashamed. While in the dungeons, he had thought to sue for pardon from the King, give him everything he knew about Yusräa, and attempt to earn redemption in any way they would allow him to.

Then the sorceress had shown up, and he wasn't given a choice whether to follow or not.

So he had walked with her, quickly, through the forests north of Erebor. They were bound for her fortress, located on the southernmost border of Ered Mithrin, about two days' journey on foot from Erebor.

It had only been ten hours and Kerif was long since sick of her company.

Perhaps if he was obtuse enough she'd leave him there out of sheer impatience. Though most likely she'd kill him first.

_Let her,_ he thought despairingly. _It's not as if I don't deserve it anyway._

Yusräa's eyes had taken on a cruel glint he didn't like at all. "If you don't start walking," she said slowly, as if speaking to a mentally challenged orc, "I will simply have to light hot coals under your legs until the only comfortable position is _running_."

Looking in those black eyes, he had no doubt she'd do it, too.

_Mahalu-me-turg. What a mess I've gotten myself into now…_

Kerif walked.

* * *

The rest of the trip to Thorin's Halls was both uneventful and somber. Gone were the laughing, storytelling, and singing of the past few days.

Kili understood. Everything that happened the night before had been a lot to take in. He still couldn't believe it was Melkor he was fighting, felt a horrible fear in his heart when he realized what it all meant.

He was targeted by the single most feared being in all of Middle Earth's history.

_Personally_.

The thought made his heart thump painfully in his chest and a hard pit gather in the center of his belly. He recognized the feeling as terror; though he hated it.

And as if that wasn't enough, Ryn was mourning one of her dearest friends and he could do nothing to assuage her pain. He wished he could even give her a legitimate amount of attention, do _something_ to help her, even if it was only to hold her for a while. But his fear became more paralyzing the longer he thought about it, and unfortunately, the relatively mindless task of riding was giving him far too much time to think.

"I know that look," Rognus stated, riding up beside him. "Though I've only ever seen it on Fíli's face before, not yours."

Kili forced a smile for his oldest friend. "What look is that?"

"Fear for the future."

Kili huffed a sigh. "Indeed. There is much to fear." Then something Rognus had said struck him. "When was Fíli ever afraid for the future?"

"On the night before you left for the Quest," Rognus replied. "You were packing, and Fíli had just finished a meeting with Thorin and Balin. I ran into him on his walk home; I've never seen him so terrified before."

"He feared for the Quest?"

Rognus shook his head. "He feared for _you_. He said he had a terrible feeling about leading you headlong into that kind of danger."

Kili snorted. "As if he could've left me behind. I'd have followed from afar if they made me."

"He knew that," Rognus laughed. "He knew it, and he loved you for it. But he felt as if he was being selfish because he really wanted you to come along, in spite of the danger. Said he felt safer with you by his side."

"And well he should. Fíli and I look out for each other, we always have."

Rognus clapped him on the back. "Yes, you have. And I look out for both of you."

That garnered the first real smile Kili had worn since the attack.

It felt good.

Startling in his saddle, Kili sat up bolt upright. "Rognus!" His smile widened. "Rognus, I know this stretch of road! We're getting close!"

"Only about an hour more!" Gimli shouted, happy to show off his knowledge of the area—hard earned knowledge from multiple watches and patrols as a warrior cadet. His da smiled proudly, ruffling the lad's hair.

That last hour was the longest of Kíli's eighty-eight years. He wanted nothing more than to spur Trixie into a gallop and ride hard the rest of the way, throwing himself off his bay pony and into his mother's arms.

But he wasn't just coming back to Ered Luin as Kili, Son of Dis. He was coming back as Prince Kili of Erebor, and some level of decorum had to be maintained.

At least, that's what he told himself over and over, until he caught sight of the carved cliff face that was the Main Gate of Thorin's Halls. Pulling Trixie up, he stared at it for a few moments, grinning first at Rognus, then at Ryn; before taking off at a wild gallop toward the settlement.

Propriety and decorum be damned; Kili was going to see his Mother.

He heard a whoop behind him, and looked back to see Gimli, Rognus, and Ryn all close on his heels. The other dwarves followed at a more sedate pace.

Kili reached the Gate and jumped down off his pony, smiling widely at the Guard, who nodded gravely.

"Kili, Son of Dis, welcome back to the Blue Mountains." Hus, Rognus' father, cracked a grin. "It's good to see you, lad."

"And you, sir," Kili laughed, embracing the old dwarf roughly. "Where is she?"

Not even having to ask to whom Kili referred, Hus gestured inside. "Probably in the central market, busying herself with preparations for the caravan so she doesn't go spare waiting for you."

Kili nodded, and then turned to find Ryn. She hung back, looking miserable and terrified and like she was trying to hide it. He went to her, touching her face when she looked up at him.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, paused, then shook her head. Kili let a warm smile spread over his face and kissed her forehead. She was trembling.

"It will be all right, my love. Mother will adore you." He pulled back, looking into her eyes and falling serious. "I know it's been a rough twenty-four hours for you, and no one is expecting you to be entirely well, all right? Mother will understand once she….hears. Just stay close to me and remember I love you."

"I will," Ryn murmured, pressing an apologetic kiss to his lips.

He took Ryn's hand, and without another word, led her into the Halls he'd grown up in.

* * *

Fíli growled with frustration as the report he was reading began to swim before his eyes for the second time in an hour. Rubbing them fiercely, he looked around his study glumly.

It was not late—he'd only just eaten dinner, while he worked of course—but he had been reading reports, writing missives, and sitting in council meetings since sunup. Kerif's disappearance had caused quite a stir as accusations, musings, and theories flew about as to how the former lieutenant had escaped.

And of course, with the King's life again in danger (or so his melodramatic council seemed determined to see it), the pressure was rising for Fíli to take a wife and produce an heir. The members of his council all seemed to have ideas, too, about who he should wed; suggestions were thrown at him, daughters of rich merchants and cousins of rich lords' wives' sisters and by the Valar, they were all accomplished and studious and meek young lassies and he'd be lucky to have each one of them on his arm…

Fíli banged his forehead on his desk.

_Mahal, I've been King for all of three months! Already they clamor for an heir. Thorin said it would happen, but I had no idea it would be this bad._

He needed a break. And badly.

He sat up again, looking around his study, and suddenly realized he hadn't really left this room (or his chambers) except to train with Dwalin and work on the mithril rooms with Balin, since Kili left.

It was time for a bit of fun.

But how? Back in Ered Luin, he and Kee had been fond of going over to the inn for drinks after a hard days' work for some ale and conversation with their friends. During the quest, it had been storytelling, singing, and sometimes dancing that had passed the evenings around their fires—when things were good. Since the Battle, there just hadn't been time for any of that.

No wonder Fíli was feeling so stretched thin and worn out.

"Hey Frâr!" he called. The lad had been too somber lately anyhow.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Change into some plain clothes, my friend, we're going out tonight."

Frâr looked puzzled. "My lord?"

"Erebor's first pub is having its grand opening this evening. The Golden Ale, they're calling it, and it's supposed to be quite the party down there. Now come on, we're going!"

"My Lord, you can't just—"

Fíli smiled, pulling off his rich royal coat. "Can't I? I'll dress in old clothes and disguise myself as a miner! And you're coming with me because I'm not stupid enough to go out there without some sort of guard at the moment."

Frâr seemed to be considering. "Well, I suppose a King can't reign from afar without ever interacting with his people."

Fíli grinned. "That's the spirit."

* * *

Dis was running toward the central hub, and not just the dainty quick-walk she'd been taught as a Lady of the Court. She was full-out _running_, interested only in speed and not at all in whether she looked proper or not.

Her Kili was home.

He was here, and she was running to him.

She reached the hub, gasping for air and looking wildly about for her son. There was a group of ponies milling about with their riders in the midst of the hub, with a growing crowd gathered around them cheering.

Someone saw her, and she heard her voice begin to be spoken and whispered among the crowd. They parted for her, and Dis felt like her entire world closed in to one small focal point when she saw him.

Pale and drawn, but missing none of that fire in his eyes she loved so much, was Kili.

She could not speak, but ran to him. He shouted, "Mama!" as he ran her direction, and she couldn't help it; she sobbed like a baby when he folded her in his arms.

"Kili, my son, my son…my sweet boy…you're here…"

"I'm here mama, just like I promised. I came home to you." Kili swiped at the tears on his cheeks as he pulled back enough to see his mother's face. "_Mahal_, I missed you, mother. I missed you so _fiercely_…" he pulled her back to his chest again, and Dis had to try hard to control the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. She lost the battle, though, clinging to her youngest son like she was drowning and he was the only one who could save her, uncaring of their audience.

Once she composed herself, Dis gave Kili a squeeze and pulled back, saying briskly, "Now! Where is this lassie you intend to marry?!"

His smile widened further, and he drew forward a girl from where she'd been standing behind him, waiting quietly. She was tall, for a dwarf lass, and had not a single hair upon her jaw; but her build was athletic and she looked strong and healthy. Soft sandy-brown curls framed her face, dirty and windblown—but Dis could understand that—and she had green eyes set in a delicate face that was too pale for the dwarf Princess' liking.

Most surprisingly, the lass was heavily armed. Dis almost laughed as she was reminded of Fíli: a belt of throwing knives, two daggers, a sword, a quiver and a bow…the lass was like a walking armory. At least Kili hadn't been lying when he said she could take care of herself.

She gave Dis a shaky curtsey. "My Lady Dis, I am Deorynn."

Dis smiled as the girl met her eyes, and she tried to smile back. It was thin and fragile though, that smile, and Dis' motherly instincts were instantly aroused.

"Kili, what have you been feeding this poor child? She looks famished, and exhausted to boot!"

Kili shifted a little, seemingly uncomfortable. "We had a bit of a rough time last night. And this morning."

Dis understood his discomfort—such things were better left for private quarters. So she placed one arm around Kíli's shoulders and the other around Deorynn's, and faced her people.

"Our prince has returned, and brought with him his wife-to-be! Erebor is reclaimed, and there is much to celebrate! Let the ale be brought, and let us feast!"

The crowd cheered wildly, and Dis turned the two children around, leaving behind everyone else and leading them toward the Durin family's chambers.

"There, that ought to keep them busy for a while, and we can talk, mm?"

* * *

A/N: Well….there is _some_ Fíli in this chapter….but there'll be more in Ch. 13. The grand opening of the Golden Ale deserves some attention, methinks. *wink wink* And where there's ale to be had, we might even see some old familiar faces!

But Kili and Dis' reunion was not going to wait another chapter. They were both just about to mutiny, so I had to do it.

The art prompt for Yusräa can be seen on My Hobbit AU! Board on Pinterest (River Steele on Pinterest), if you'd like to see what she looks like.

Thanks to all of you for your support, and drop a PM or review if you like, I love hearing what you have to say! Also huge thanks to **summerald** for her help with this chapter!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Hope your weekend was lovely. Don't know if I need to up the rating on this chapter for this, but just so everyone is warned: there are mentions of torture in this chapter, as well as one very definitely rude-and-likely-M-rated word at the very end. Oh yeah, and a bit of fluffy Kíli/Ryn action. I'm thinking they deserve it.

Pinterest art prompts for this chapter are "Apology, Kíli x Ryn" and "Art Sketch of Dis" (for those of you who wonder what she looks like in my headcanon). Just Google River Steele Pinterest and you'll find it.

As always, thanks to all of you who read, review, and follow this story! You all inspire me!

* * *

"Now," Dis smiled as she set down the tray of coffee and sweet biscuits, "let's have out with this story."

Kíli took a mug gratefully and sat back into his armchair. Beside him, Ryn sat a little stiffly, though he could tell she was doing everything she could to act normally.

The idea of telling his mother the entire story of their Quest, the battle, the winter in Erebor, and their journey back to the Blue Mountains was…daunting, to say the least; but Kíli knew he owed her at least a brief overview before he rested.

"The story will take days, Mama; but I can give you the highlights, I think."

He launched into their tale, starting with the crossing from Ered Luin into the Shire all those months ago, when Myrtle had dumped him in the river and Ryn had first saved his life. Dis was quiet through it all, aside from a few gasps and cringes, and even a laugh or two, but when he got to the worst bit of the Battle of Five Armies, he hesitated.

Ryn was staring at him, and he nodded to her, wanting his mother to know what she had done. She blushed pink and took over for him.

"I was healing Fíli at the time, the poor lad had five arrows stuck in him; and Kíli saved us both from the giant orc that tried to bash my head in while I was focused on Fíli. I…he…" she faltered; clenching her jaw in a gesture he knew meant she was holding back tears. Kili glanced at his mother apologetically, but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on Ryn, her face white.

"He what?" she prompted gently.

"Fíli screamed his name, and I turned to see the orc had…" she forced the words past clenched teeth. "…the orc had sliced Kíli's throat. He was falling, right there in front of both of us. Fíli made short work of the orc, while I got Kíli up on Beorn's back and he took us to an area with a lot of wildlife for me to work with. I drained the energy of everything in my range trying to save him, and it still wasn't enough." Ryn looked straight into his mother's eyes. "So I gave him my own. Just enough to save him."

"And enough that it nearly killed you," Kíli murmured.

Dis came out of her chair so fast, Kíli stood, instantly on alert for danger. But his mother had Ryn in her arms, and both women were crying hard enough they were hiccupping and sobbing into each other's shoulders, and Kíli had never felt so confused in his life.

"He almost died; I nearly couldn't…save him…!" Ryn was sobbing.

"But you _did_, lass, you did…You saved both my sons and I could never…."

"I would give my life for either of them, I'd do anything…"

Kíli stood staring, blinking as he tried to understand what was happening. He was right here, he was _fine_, and Fíli was safe in Erebor, and _why were they both crying so hard?_

"Um…mother?" he ventured, but she shook her head at him, stroking Ryn's hair and murmuring comforts into her ear while the younger lass broke down completely.

It troubled him.

What had he done? Had he not seen how badly she was hurting? What had he missed?

So it was with a heavy heart he retired to his room, figuring the conversation was over for that night, at least. The room was full of crates, his mother having packed up all his gear, old toys, leather-bound journals, and books. The bed was made though, obviously in preparation for his arrival; so he dropped his gear and decided a bath would definitely not be out of order.

It was an hour later Ryn came to his door and quietly told him supper was prepared. She looked half-ashamed as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him when he passed her in the doorway. He smiled and captured her lips gently.

"I'm sorry," she whispered when she pulled away. "I didn't mean to steal your mother away from you the moment you came home."

He kissed her again. "You did no such thing. Please, though, Ryn: forgive me for not realizing how upset you still were about the whole thing. I don't know how I missed it, and I would've done anything you needed had I known—"

"—Shh, no, Kíli. I didn't _want_ you to know; there's been so much on your plate already, you and Fíli both, and I'm okay; really, I am. Sometimes I can even forget about…" she shuddered. "…watching you fall. But most of the time….it's there, âzyungel. It's there, in the forefront of my mind, and I see it over and over, like some sort of madness; blood spraying from your neck, your face twisted up in agony over the Morgul poison, the way you screamed that night I nearly lost you at Bard's…"

She was shaking, and he pulled her fiercely toward him, kissing her hair. "Mahal, Ryn; how do you stay sane?"

He kicked himself for being so insensitive, but then she laughed; a choking, desperate sort of sound. "I'm not entirely sure I _am_ sane…"

He stroked her back, intending to be comforting, but she was breathing into his neck and her hands were in his hair, and _Mahal_, he couldn't think straight when she pressed against him like that…

He kissed her once more, deeply, then murmured against her lips, "You are, trust me; you're just traumatized. It will get better with time, love; but for now, you're welcome to come to me anytime you need to know I'm all right." He looked down at her, holding her gaze. "Because I _am_ all right. Thanks to you, I am all right, and I'll not be leaving you anytime soon, hear?"

She nodded, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'm not the only one who's been traumatized, though, Kíli; don't think I can't see it in your eyes. So the offer goes both ways: I'm here when you need me, too. Promise me you won't shut me out?"

He let out a shaky breath: his own demons seemed far more dangerous than hers, and he didn't want to subject her to him when they came to play. But her tone brooked no argument, and maybe being with her when things got really bad would help…

"I promise," he whispered.

* * *

Fíli, Son of Dis, King Under the Mountain, decided he quite liked being Filar, Son of Cadoc, Miner. With soot darkening his golden locks, his royal braids replaced by a humble, practical hairstyle, and his distinctive moustache curled rather than braided; his skin blackened by some coal and dirt Frâr had managed to get hold of, and his rich royal garments replaced by his old rough travel-clothes; Fíli wasn't even sure he recognized _himself_ in the mirror.

He and Kíli had done this before, going to the pub incognito for grins; but he had to give credit to Frâr—the lad was really, really good at disguise.

Fíli wondered if that was a normal skill taught to Iron Hills warriors, or something he'd picked up another way.

"Wow," he breathed, Frâr grinning behind him. "I don't even look like me."

"Told you I was good at this."

"Indeed, frighteningly so," Fíli agreed.

Frâr shrugged as he adjusted the sleeve of his own worn shirt. "I had to disguise my sister as a page a few times to keep…" he paused. "Well, let's just say I've had some practice with disguises."

"To keep what?" Fíli asked, wondering what kind of concern could lead his friend to disguise his sister as a lad.

Frâr looked uncomfortable. "Look, my Lord—"

"—Filar," Fíli grinned. He took it as a good sign Frâr smiled back.

"Filar," he continued. "Things are not the same in the Iron Hills as they are here. After the death of our parents, the care of my sister passed to me. As a young lad in warrior training, there were a lot of dwarves who thought I was…unfit…to care for a lass properly. Marriage proposals were made, a couple out of real concern—Fria would be properly cared for and educated, if not loved as a lad loves his One—but some were made solely out of consideration for what she could offer a dwarf lad."

"Which was?"

"Our parents were rather…well-off. And Fria is a beautiful lass."

Fíli blinked. "Ah."

"Of course, she was only a child, really; well, an adolescent. She was about sixty-five when our parents died. Regardless, I wasn't about to let her be pawned off into a marriage of convenience or even one borne from real concern for her well-being, but lacking in love."

Fíli was still confused. "But…so what does that have to do with disguise? You told the suitors no, what more is there to it?"

Frâr's fists clenched as they walked. "One or two of the more…brazen…ones didn't know how to take 'no' for an answer."

Fíli stopped walking, staring hard at Frâr. "They wouldn't." Dwarfish law was merciless when it came to the mistreatment of a lass—aside from the moral implications, ladies were too rare for the race to be able to afford to mistreat them—so to forcibly take one was punishable by death.

Frâr's eyes glinted with a protectiveness Fíli recognized instantly. "Unfortunately, they would. It would be far too easy for one of them to force her, marry her, and blackmail her—using my career or her own wellbeing as leverage—into publicly declaring it voluntary while holding her basically hostage. I've seen it happen to lasses there before."

Fíli couldn't take it in. Such a thing was _unheard of_ in the Blue Mountains—lasses were given free will, and often lads would jockey for their affections, but ultimately, the Choice was all hers. Fíli had never been one to beg for a lass's attention, probably because there had been so much else to focus on—learning to be a King, helping plan for Erebor, politics and philosophy classes, all in addition to warrior training and blacksmith apprenticeship—but for a lad to _force_ a lass to marry him—be that through physical force or extortion—was a completely foreign concept.

It was entirely un-dwarfish, in his opinion. A disgrace to their race.

"That's disgusting," was all he could say. Frâr's eyes flashed.

"It is. So I often kept her close to me by disguising her as a page or a courier, barely letting her out of my sight when those dwarves were about."

"Where is she now?"

"In semi-permanent disguise in one of the smaller Iron Hills settlements, under the protection of my mother's cousin. As far as our old acquaintances know, I took her to Erebor with me—but I didn't want to actually bring her here until everything settled a bit; until I had us a place of our own so she wouldn't be sleeping in the Guard Hall with the lads, until I was established enough to care for her." Here his face relaxed into a small smile. "I sent for her last week, actually, she should be here soon."

"Good," Fíli stated with a rough nod. "She should be here. I'd not allow any such nonsense as all that in this Mountain. She'll be safe here, Frâr, you have my word. And you also now have larger quarters—I'll have you moved into one of the larger family chambers next week; that way your sister will have a much nicer place to settle. She can do whatever she likes here—there are all the usual careers generally occupied by lasses; maidservants, cooks, seamstresses, weavers, the like. But she could also be a blacksmith, hostler, guard, warrior, scribe—anything she wants. And should she desire, she'll have plenty of lads to choose from here; ones that won't expect her to be nothing but a trophy or prize."

Frâr's smile looked ready to split his face, and he clapped Fíli on the back.

"Thanks, Filar. You have no idea how much that means to us both."

Fíli smiled. "I sort of think I do, but you're welcome all the same."

* * *

Dis had opened the doors to the rest of Kíli's companions for dinner that night, though most of them were staying in the Inn just off the Central Hub, and the inn had excellent fare and even better company.

That said, they had all traveled here together, and they all showed up for dinner.

And they weren't the only ones.

Kíli was helping set the table when a decidedly female voice spoke up behind him.

"Back barely a few hours and she's got you back at your old chores, eh Kee?"

Kíli whirled on the spot, a splitting grin on his face as he took in the sight of his two oldest friends and former playmates. He yelped his joy, and wrapped them both in his arms.

"Anora! Sêla! Mahal, I'm glad to see you both!"

The girls laughed, and he pulled back, holding them at arm's length to study them while they all started talking at once:

"I can't believe you're finally back!"

"We've been beside ourselves with nerves, Kee, like you wouldn't believe."

"You're both coming to Erebor, right?!"

"Father decided we were almost instantly…"

"…he even sent Anora's suitor packing, which was highly satisfying…"

"Anora's what?!"

"I know, right?"

"Oh, he was a real cockroach, that one anyway, no one was sad to see him go.."

"How is Fíli?"

"How are your parents?"

"Can we meet your lady-love?"

"Was the Quest terrible? A dragon, really Kee!"

"By the Valar, children!" Dis scolded, but she was smiling. "Allow each other a breath, will you? Kíli, take your friends and your lovely lass out of the kitchen, it's far too crowded in here for reunions and introductions."

Kíli took Ryn by the arm, laughing, and followed the girls into the sitting room, which was much less occupied. He turned, opening his mouth to introduce the girls, when Anora's voice came again, slightly choked.

"Wait. _Deorynn_?"

Ryn was smiling wider than Kíli had seen her do since Aran's death. "Anora, Daughter of Tefur. I've wondered about you often over the years."

Sêla's eyes were the size of saucers. "This is _her_, Nora?"

The older sister nodded slowly, a smile spreading over her face. Kíli stepped back, grinning. Anora pounced first, throwing her arms around Ryn's neck, garnering a laugh from his intended that was all joy and relief.

"You're alive!" Anora squeaked. "I didn't think it possible you could still be alive!"

"Of course I'm alive. Like you, I'm tougher than I look." She pulled away from Anora and turned to Sêla. "Is this your sister you told me about?"

Sêla jumped forward, folding Ryn in an embrace of her own before curtseying. "Sêla, Daughter of Tefur, at your service. I owe you my sister's life, Lady Deorynn, and I can never repay you for it."

Ryn laughed again. "Your sister played as much a part in the preservation of her life as I did. I merely distracted the creatures long enough for her to reach her weapon. Do you still wield a battleaxe, Anora?"

"Secretly, yes I do."

"Secretly?"

Sêla mock-whispered, "Father doesn't approve."

"Ahhhh."

But Anora had rounded on Kíli, punching his arm. He shied away, confused.

What was _with_ the women in his life today? They'd all gone _mad_!

"Ow! Anora, what?!"

"How come you didn't say you were engaged to marry the lass who brought me home all those years ago?!

Kíli ducked another blow. "I didn't know until a week ago! Anora, ow, stop it!"

Ryn laughed and stepped in. "He didn't know, I'd not told that particular story until just last week."

"He knew your name though! I told you all her name years ago!"

Kíli's jaw was slack. "Anora, you think I paid attention to the name of your imaginary lady knight in shining armor?! Fíli and I were busy debating whether or not you made the whole thing up!"

Ryn laughed harder, but the girls had latched on to their other mate's name, irritation forgotten.

"How is Fee, Kíli?"

Kíli grinned, offering Ryn his arm as supper was called. "He's just fine. Misses you lot; I think it'll do him good to see you again once we arrive there."

Supper passed in a blur of happy conversation and laughter. A meal with Mother in his childhood home gave Kíli a sense of peace he hadn't experienced in nearly a year, and the addition of Ryn to the scene just made it that much more perfect.

The only thing that could've made it better would've been having Fee beside him.

But he took comfort in the fact that they would be headed back to Erebor in a few days, this time with Mother, Anora, Sêla, Gimli, and Rognus in tow. The trip back there would be longer—and perhaps just as dangerous—as the journey to get here; but surrounded by kith and kin, in a warm kitchen full of laughter, Kíli just couldn't feel frightened.

Melkor would be most displeased, Kíli grinned to think.

* * *

Kerif sighed in relief as he sunk to the floor of the icy cold dungeon cell. Yusräa had been merciless about getting back to Helcënost, driving him to the point the two-day trip took just over twenty-four hours. There had been no relief upon arrival there, as the woman never seemed to tire, and had instead subjected him to several hours of "interrogation". He had lied as much as he could, but even still, a few damning truths had worked their way past his traitorous lips while in the throes of immeasurable pain, lying there like a beaten animal on the sorceress's freezing stone floor.

And Yusräa now had a new plan.

At least this one didn't involve him, though he knew immediately he would involve himself as soon as he could find a way out of this blasted cell.

Because if there was one thing Kerif had left, after losing his entire family and rejecting his king and friends, it was this:

He was the Son of Derin. His father never would have brooked treachery in his family, and Kerif was sick at the thought that he had besmirched his father's good name, and put the whole of Durin's Line in danger at the same time.

_It's about the only thing you do well, lad: fail._

But Erebor was in peril—would have been with or without his help; though he had certainly been useful to Yusräa in that goal—and his bad decisions had put him in a unique position to do something about it.

Which was why he didn't take but a moment to rest; starting instead on studying the cell hinges and walls, looking for a way out.

* * *

Fíli had felt instantly better than he had in weeks when Frâr walked into the Golden Ale ahead of him. Music had reached his ears, over the din of merry conversation; the smell of simple food and good ale assaulted his nose, and the sight of so many regular folk who weren't going to be trying to pair him off with their daughters or lobby for a certain cause or get him to decree something was incredibly comforting.

Fíli and Frâr went straight to the bar and ordered ales first—after all, as King, Fíli had a vested interest in the quality of beverages sold in his kingdom. Couldn't have the visitors drinking nasty beer.

Or at least that was his excuse as he downed the first pint in record time, laughing when he drank it faster than Frâr had.

It was good ale.

He wandered around, making light conversation with the folks—miners, merchants, tinkers, scholars—even now unable to completely set aside his kingship, listening well to what the dwarves of Erebor had to say about their King:

"He's a good lad, I think; we don't really see him much yet, but I hear they're getting ready to set up a regular time for him to hold court."

"I heard he plans to allow anyone at all to come to him with their grievances! It's a good idea, I'm thinking!"

"I've met King Fíli personally [this one was a rich merchant, rather rotund and merry]. He's a good, strong leader and I am optimistic about Erebor's future."

Not everyone was nearly so pleased, Fíli quickly noted. He'd gone to get a mug of water—no need to wake up hung over on the morrow—and overheard a group of richly dressed lords talking loudly about the King's 'isolationist tendencies,' evident over the past few days.

"The lad is too young to rule; he'll soon start cracking under the pressure," one observed.

"Or perhaps he has already! Has anyone seen him lately?"

"I heard there was an attempt on his life, so the Guard is keeping him locked away."

"Ha!" sneered another. "A likely story. He's hardly even established as King; who would try to assassinate him? Personally, I think he just can't handle it and is going a bit mad."

"It wouldn't be the first time a Son of Durin lost his mind," another crowed, and the group snickered.

_Note to self: lords are slimy and fork-tongued._

Fíli saw this as a problem: he didn't want his court to be full of snakes he couldn't trust. A certain amount of politicking was inevitable, he knew; but as a King, he wished to cultivate an honest, forthright society—and that had to begin at the top of the 'social ladder'.

Somehow, he needed to knock his courtiers down to size.

It was these deep thoughts the King was rattled out of when someone plopped down next to him.

His eyes registered a floppy hat and a cock-eyed grin before the words hit his ears, spoken in a low murmur:

"Hullo there, laddie. Wondered if you'd be joining us tonight."

"Bofur!" he laughed, and threw his arm around his friend. Bofur smiled wider. "A bunch of us are sitting over in the corner—" he gestured to a large round table, where several of the Old Company sat waving, having sense enough not to shout his name across the pub. "—we'd love to have you join us."

Fíli didn't even have to think about the answer.

He motioned to Frâr where he'd be, and the lad—ever the Guard—took up a casual post near the large table, where Fíli greeted Bifur, Bombur, Oin, Dwalin, Nori, and Ori enthusiastically.

"How have you been, laddie?" Oin asked loudly. "We've missed ye since….since we last saw ye!"

"I've been well!" Fíli nearly shouted so the old-timer would hear him. "My current duties are a bit overwhelming, but it should settle soon. Then I hope to see more of you all—it's been far too long!"

They all agreed.

"And how's your brother?" Ori asked, shy as always despite that Fíli considered the lad to be a personal friend.

"He should be at Thorin's Halls by now, with Mother," Fíli lowered his voice just a bit. "The last raven I got from him, they were just outside Bree."

_A raven you've yet to return_, he noted to himself with a pang of guilt. His brother had no idea what was happening here in Erebor—the attempts on his life, Kerif's betrayal and escape, none of it.

He'd have been _furious_ if their places were reversed.

He swore to write before sleeping tonight. He'd send Qir off first thing in the morning.

"Here's to Prince Kíli!" Bombur shouted, holding up his ale. A toast to the Prince was hardly worth keeping quiet, and several dwarves from other tables raised their ales, too. "To Erebor's Prince and the first full-sized caravan on its way from Ered Luin!"

"Here here!" everyone shouted, and drank.

"And to our good King Fíli!" someone across the room called. "To the King Under the Mountain! May his reign be long and prosperous, and may he never value gold over the company of friends, the love of family, and the taste of a good ale!"

The roar of agreement that met this toast had Fíli smiling like an idiot.

The company of friends, the love of family, and the taste of good ale.

It was worth more than all the gold in Erebor to him. And he'd not see that change.

* * *

Raela sighed as she started awake again, the sound of her Lady in the adjoining room tossing and turning starting to drive the handmaiden a little bit mad.

She supposed she had no right to be annoyed; the last hours had been a hellish experience for Lady Ryn, and Raela had seen the affect it had on her, perhaps more than anyone else had except maybe Prince Kíli.

The lass was fraying around the edges, and Raela didn't know how to help her.

So when she heard her Lady rise from bed and sneak past her, she had no doubt at all where she was going.

And she did nothing to stop her.

* * *

Kíli settled into bed easily that night, staring up at the same familiar ceiling he had for decades before the Quest. He was so happy to be back, to see everyone again; he couldn't stop smiling in spite of how hard the last day had been.

The only damper on his joy was that he missed Fíli. He looked over where Fee's bed still stood next to his, remembering how many nights he'd spent in that bed as a child—falling asleep against his brother's chest whenever he had a bad dream, or when Fíli would wake crying for their da, or when the two just spent hours after dousing the light whispering to each other about training, classes, Erebor, and the silliness of adults in general.

Kili grinned, then sighed. He thought it odd he hadn't heard back from Fee yet, and decided to send a raven the next day to prompt his royal-arsed brother to respond to his letter.

The prick.

Kili was just drifting off when there came a soft knock and his door opened quietly. He squinted into the darkness trying to see who was there, but he didn't have to wonder long; slightly calloused hands met his shoulder moments later as Ryn felt for him through the darkness, whispering his name.

"Ryn?" he whispered back. She stopped moving, leaning over him.

"Kíli? I'm uh…can I…?" her voice was shaking with suppressed tension—both emotional and physical, he guessed. Kili pulled the covers back and pulled her toward him by the hand. She didn't require more encouragement, crawling into bed beside him and trembling as she curled up against his chest.

"Are you all right?" he murmured, concerned.

She nodded, kissing his shoulder. "I've missed you."

Kili knew she what she meant. He had ached to hold her for _weeks_; to kiss her without anyone watching, to feel her skin against his, to delight in the soft sounds she made when he…

He shivered. "What about Raela?"

Ryn was distracting him by nibbling his earlobe. "Asleep."

"Are you…sure…?" he stuttered as her lips nibbled the hinge of his jaw. He turned and pulled her flush against him, unable to resist feeling her everywhere.

"Mmhmm," she hummed against his throat, and Kili said nothing else.

The rest of their communication that night was thoroughly and delightfully non-verbal.

* * *

_Melkor wandered the forest slowly, weakened yet again by his confrontation with that damned wizard. He growled to himself. The Istari was an enemy he knew he'd have to find a way to defeat. Mithrandir was not as easily swayed as Saruman had been; un-tempted by riches, power, or lust; this Emissary of the cursed Valar was proving impossible to touch._

_In addition, he'd not expected the Durin Prince to be so hard to persuade. He had thought promising the end of the weakness from the Morgul poison was his easy ticket into the boy's heart, the one way to turn him from his companions and draw him toward the Dark. And yet the dwarf had resisted him. He growled; _ever_ the dwarves resisted him—his only victory over them had ever been the curse on the Line of Durin that made them susceptible to Gold Sickness, and the current King Under the Mountain had enlisted Mithrandir's help to counteract that particular weakness. Melkor could not reach Durin's Sons that way (not now, at least); and he had not the time to wait for a new King in Erebor…_

_And then there was the matter of that little bastard dwarf girl-child. He knew for a fact she'd never learned to use her Eiri magic for warfare—those secrets were locked in Fjallstadr, under the watchful eye of his Servant Fárbjóðr. But she had discovered it instinctively when the wailing Durin whelp was in danger, and had weakened him in one blow nearly as badly as Mithrandir had in the ensuing battle. And then she had counteracted the morgul poison he'd set boiling in the lad's blood—_again_—rendering that entire confrontation moot._

_Now he was weak and in pain and furious._

_He no longer wanted the little bitch on his side. He wanted her _dead_. _

_And he wanted it to hurt._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Welp. Ended up splitting one chapter into two here—it just got so long! Enjoy!

* * *

Nalla, Daughter of Duron, Princess of Ered Mithrin, woke with a yelp as her shoulder struck a wooden frame. She tried to sit up, but everything was moving too quickly, too madly…what was happening to her? The wagon creaked and groaned and crashed as it rolled, throwing the dwarf lass around inside, cutting and bruising as branches and rocks broke through the canvas cover to buffet her. After what seemed like an eternity, the rolling stopped, and Nalla settled, trying to get her bearings and crying out in anguish at the broken piece of wood that impaled her abdomen.

If there was one thing the Princess was sure of, it was that _that_ very definitely did not belong there. Hot blood welled between her fingers where she gripped the wound around the wood.

"Di!" she tried to shout for her handmaiden, but it came out more of a choked whisper. "Di, help!"

Her ears became aware of more noise now that the rolling and crashing had stopped: there was screaming, shouts of warriors—her guard, doubtless—fighting something in the camp. The princess struggled weakly, but the bit of broken wagon frame that impaled her was still attached to the wagon itself. She had no axe to hack it free, and even she knew one oughtn't to pull out an object that is impaling them, lest they bleed out even faster.

The screams and shouts had stopped, Nalla noticed with relief. Good. Help would be coming soon.

_Except_…

Except now there were no voices at all. It was completely and eerily silent, save the sound of light footsteps crunching through leaves, coming closer.

"Help!" she rasped again, the edges of her vision going spotty. A tall figure—feminine, in a dress Nalla's handmaid would have been scandalized to look upon—stood before her, a staff with a jagged glowing crystal held in her left hand.

"No," the woman said, a smile on her pale face.

She brought her staff down on the Princess' temple, and Nalla knew no more.

* * *

Dis smiled as she left her room the next morning, tying her braid off as she walked down the hallway toward the front rooms. Kíli's door was ajar, just enough for her to see inside, and her grin widened at the thought of seeing him asleep.

Her lads had always been sweet and affectionate and kind; but as the years had passed, and Dis had watched them grow into fine, strong lads who defended their halls with the other warrior cadets, she had been surprised at the small bereavement each step brought. The first time Fíli had run into trouble on his patrol, for instance, and had to kill several orcs; Dis had watched him confess it to Thorin, watched him struggle with it, and she had mourned the loss of his innocence in a way she never had expected to.

But in sleep, when they were safe and relaxed, she could again see in her boys a glimpse of the gentle, guileless souls they had been as little ones.

She wondered if she could still see that in Kíli, or if the quest and hardships of life since then had burned it out of him.

She pushed gently on the door, looking in. Her eyes widened and her breath caught at the realization that there was very definitely more than one person in his bed.

_What?_

Her youngest lay beside his intended, a tangled mess of sheets and limbs that struck Dis hard as a reminder of a closeness she'd not shared in years. Shaking her head to clear it—it was hardly a shock that they had sought one another's comfort in the wake of everything they'd been through, and Dis had seen worse reactions to trauma before—she found Kíli's face. Her smile returned.

He was so young, entirely innocent in sleep, nose buried in his beloved's curls as he shifted closer to her.

And the girl: Dis recognized her manner—the look on her face, the tension that did not dissipate even in repose, the way she clung to Kili, shoulders beginning to shake as she apparently fought off a nightmare.

Mahal, but she knew that reaction.

It was time to have a chat with her soon-to-be Daughter.

Dis pretended not to hear the lass's cry of terror several minutes later as she began to prepare breakfast, pointedly ignoring the sound of weeping from the other room and Kíli's low voice as he comforted his lassie.

But when the girl walked quietly into the kitchen, eyes red and face paling as she noticed Dis' presence, the Lady of Thorin's Halls could no longer wait.

"Ryn, lass, sit down before you fall over. I'll get you a cup of tea, yes? And then we'll chat."

Ryn sat, burying her face in her palms, ears turning bright red.

"Where is your handmaiden?" Dis asked, biting back a smile at the girl's embarrassment. Ryn looked up as the lady set a mug of tea down before her.

"Our room at the Inn," she mumbled quietly.

"Does she know?"

Ryn looked up. "That I snuck out to come spend the night with Kili? I doubt it. Well, she might now, it being morning and all." She turned pleading eyes to Dis. "Please, don't be angry with him. I came to him, last night. It was my fault, I needed…"

But Dis was shaking her head. "Hush, lass, I know."

Ryn blinked. "You…._know_? You know what, exactly?"

"Why you came to him. And why, if you hadn't, he would've gone to you."

The lass's face was blank.

Dis smiled. "You forget I lived through the sacking of Erebor. I was there the day Smaug came, the day my people became refugees." Her smile faded, and she shifted in her seat. "I saw an entire society of people lose everything in a day. I was only a small child, but that's not the sort of thing you forget."

Ryn reached for Dis' hand, covering it with her own. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…"

"No, hush," Dis continued. The lass needed to hear what she had to say. "After many years, and we grew older, all of us, and Grandfather wanted to take back Moria; I was there when the news came in of the casualties that had cost us—my grandfather, father, and brother, in addition to all the others. There was not one family where at least one person had not died. When the survivors returned, it was…" Dis shook her head, remembering. "The families were already traumatized, but so many of the returned warriors were completely destroyed by that battle. Some warriors became too steeped in their cups to maintain their families' bonds, welcoming the escape from reality that drunkenness can provide. Still others became short-tempered to the point of violence. Some were paranoid, others just checked out completely. Even Thorin was never the same after that."

Ryn shuddered.

"I was lucky, really. Rori and I had just been married before he left for Moria; and he held onto himself remarkably well in the aftermath." She looked meaningfully at Ryn. "But it was not easy, and I don't think we would've made it had we been merely intended and not married. The nights were the hardest, and if I couldn't be with him through the hardest bits, if I hadn't been allowed to touch and comfort him, I think I would have lost him."

The lass was shaking her head. "No. I'll not lose Kíli, my lady, I _can't_. I won't let it happen."

"I wasn't referring to you losing him."

Ryn's eyes widened.

Dis squeezed her arm. "He is troubled and frightened and hurt, true. But I look at Kili, and I do not see the same horror in his eyes that you carry, child. I'm not sure why, though I hope someday you'll tell me; but Kili is in danger of losing _you_."

"_Me_? I would never…."

"Deliberately, no, you would never. But tell me, how many times have you been tempted lately to drink the pain away? How many nights have you spent, sleepless, because you can only rest when he's beside you—and sometimes even _that_ doesn't keep the nightmares at bay? How many times have you snapped needlessly at someone and not really known why, begun to cry and not been able to stop?"

Ryn was silent, eyes wide. Dis continued, more quietly. "And how long do you think you can continue this way before you lose yourself entirely?"

A tear tracked down the girl's cheek, and Dis reached up to brush it away.

"Kili loves you, Ryn, that much is plain. And it is obvious you love him too, and that not only do you love him, but you're strong enough to handle what will doubtless be thrown at him as Prince of Erebor. I don't want to see either of you lose the other, do you see?"

"Then what do you propose?" Kili spoke up from the doorway. Dis looked him straight in the eyes when she answered him.

"_Mahkurush_, Kili. I think you ought to go through a _mahkurush_. Before we leave. This evening, perhaps."

"_Mahkurush_?" Ryn questioned. "I thought that was only for lasses who got pregnant before they ought." She blushed. "I'm no hussy, my lady."

Dis blinked. "A hussy? Who said….?"

"Where I grew up, the only women who entered into a _mahkurush_ were ones who became pregnant before marriage."

"Seriously?" that was Kili, looking aghast. "Women here do it a lot. Mostly when men are headed off to battle or on a long journey, so that they may bid them a proper and thorough farewell." He winked.

Dis slapped his arm. "There's more to it than that, you numbskull. A woman who is simply intended of her love will be expected to go back to her father's house or be on her own should something happen to her beloved. But if she is his _bandinh_, she will be treated like family, given all the same rights as a wife would in the event of his death—including any compensation or loot and his personal effects. She will also carry his name through any children they have, if she is pregnant."

"Why not just get married, then?" Ryn asked.

"The difference between a _mahkurush_ and a marriage is only this: a _mahkurush_ is able to be broken—not easily, and it's not encouraged, but it can be done without consequences of any kind to either party. And besides, weddings are not simple things; whereas a _mahkurush_ can be arranged and carried out in mere hours, if necessary."

Ryn looked at Kíli. Did he want to do this? He appeared to be considering, studying his mother's face.

"And you think Ryn and I ought to do this today, in case something happens to me?"

Dis shook her head. "I want you to do it so that you will be able to offer one another the comfort you need, without societal restrictions based upon your relationship. Though should something happen to you, Fíli and I would be in a much better position to care for Ryn if she was your _bandinh_, yes."

Dis watched the silent communication between her son and Ryn as they looked at one another.

Kíli had chosen well. It did her heart good to see it.

"All right," Kíli answered for them both. "Yes. We'd like that."

Dis smiled wider. "Perfect. Well then, come lass! There's much to be done; and you can't attend your own _mahkurush_ dressed in a tunic and leathers. Kili, kindly let your Company know about the ceremony tonight—before supper, and we'll do in your favorite spot just outside the gates, yeah? Also let Anora and Sêla know; they'll know what to do."

Kili blinked. "Mother, did you plan this?"

"Of course not! But those girls and I have been through hell waiting for you lot the last year, and I know them better than I did when you left." She patted his cheek as she swept by with Ryn on her arm. "Go now, I'll see you in a little while."

Ryn met his eyes, and Kíli almost laughed at the expression of half-amusement, half-terror she wore.

* * *

Fíli backpedaled, hands in front of him in a protective gesture, as if to ward off the two dwarves in front of him and the horrid creation they held in their hands.

"I am _not_ wearing that," he insisted.

The older of the two chamberlains tasked with dressing him for tonight's dinner looked nervous and a little affronted, shaking the frilly lace collar as if gentling an animal.

"Sire, it's part of the outfit. They're the newest style in the Iron Hills, even King Dain—"

"—King Dain can prance around in naught but his skin for all I care," Fíli growled. "I am _not_ King Dain, nor are we _in_ the Iron Hills, and I am _not_ wearing that!"

"Lads, what's the problem?" Fíli's Chief Valet, Vit, entered the room, smoothing his long beard in a nervous gesture Fíli recognized as meaning the King was running behind schedule. Vit took one look at the situation and sighed.

"Sire, is there anything we can do to convince you to don this collar?" he asked wearily.

"Not a thing, Vit."

"Very well. Lads, you're dismissed. The king will be late if we tarry any longer." The two young chamberlains scurried away, thankfully taking the disturbing mess of lace with them, and Fíli breathed a sigh of relief. Vit came forward, holding his crown and glaring at the King from under his bushy eyebrows.

"Now you stay still, laddie, and I don't want another lick of trouble from you," he scolded, as if Fíli was an errant dwarfling instead of the King Under the Mountain.

Fíli supposed it would do him good to be reminded he was just a youngling from Ered Luin once in a while. He smiled at the old one. "Yes, sir."

It was all rather quick and painless, and Fíli was shooed out of his quarters five minutes later, looking regal in his gold-and-red themed ensemble, crown settled firmly on his brow. He shot Frâr a smile—it was difficult to maintain the stiff formality common between King and Guard since their…_activities_…at the Golden Ale.

Fíli had been quite enjoying himself singing with a group of miners in the corner, when he'd spotted trouble. A couple of the larger, meaner-looking lads had decided that Frâr was "too stiff 'n silent" for their taste, and determined that he was up to no good.

Fíli had arrived just as the first punch was thrown, and had reciprocated eagerly, knocking the big lad away from the Captain. Frâr had risen quickly to stand beside him, growling that he'd better not take a punch to the face or they were both going to be in big trouble for this little escapade.

Fíli—rather, Filar—had grinned.

He'd managed to avoid getting punched in the face, but as he and Frâr had staggered back to the royal quarters, singing loudly, Fíli had been nursing multiple bruises and a wrenched wrist.

Now the Captain of the King's Guard walked quietly beside him, ducking his head for only a second to hide a small smile of his own. Balin awaited him in the hall, greeting him with a smile and a rough smack on the back. Fíli winced—the stab wound was still healing, after all—but Balin barely noticed.

"Evenin' laddie, are you ready for a state dinner?"

Fíli stifled a groan. "I thought this was more…an official welcome for the Princess of Ered Mithrin."

"Oh it is, only longer. And with more dancing."

"Have they found the lass's guards yet?" The Princess had staggered into Erebor the day before, looking weather-beaten and pale, but in relatively good health. Her Guard had evidently not been so lucky, as she related a spider attack in the northern spur of the Mirkwood. Fíli had sent a missive to Thranduil that day, asking if he'd been aware of a guard crossing the wood and attempting to enlist his help finding the missing lads.

"No, but if the spiders took them…"

"I know, there may not be anything left by now." Fíli sighed. "Not how I wanted to start off Ered Mithrin's first visit."

"I know," Balin nodded. "But the Princess—"

He stopped as they rounded the corner and Fíli ran straight into someone—literally—and knocked them backward right onto their rear.

"Oy, sorry—" Fíli began to say, until he noticed deep green skirts. "Oh, my lady, I apologize!" The lass looked up at him, blushing furiously as she pushed her hair back from in front of her face where it had fallen. Fíli paused at the sight of arresting blue eyes and a delicate mouth. A dusting of trimmed dark hair along her jaw and a small patch just on her chin contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, and her curls fell in thick tumbles down to her waist. He offered her his hand, and she took it with a smile that was both shy and certain—a contradiction that had Fíli stumbling over his next words.

"I um…I didn't see….hello…I'm sorry…are you all right?"

"I am well," she answered softly. Her voice was sweet, gentle and enchanting, and Fíli had to remind himself not to stare. She curtseyed. "It is I who should apologize, my Lord. I was trying to get to the banquet hall and became lost…"

"We'll escort you there," Fíli answered eagerly. She took his left arm and gave him a small smile.

"Oh I would very much appreciate that, thank you!"

"What is your name?" Fíli asked as they began walking again.

"Oh! How silly of me," the lass giggled. "I am Nalla, Daughter of Duron, Princess of Ered Mithrin."

Fíli lowered his voice and kiss the lady's hand. "Princess. I was very sorry to hear about your hardships on the way here. I hope to have King Thranduil look into the situation along the road, keep this from happening again."

Nalla blinked back tears. "Thank you, Your Highness; that will doubtless go far toward ensuring a good relationship between our two people."

Fíli hoped so.

* * *

**Endnote**: Many thanks to **summerald** for the idea of a Mahkurush ceremony! It is similar to a betrothal or handfasting ceremony, allowing the couple freedoms that a simple courtship would not. You can google "handfasting ceremony" if you wish to know more about this ancient Celtic tradition.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Hello friends! We have a really fluffy Kíli/Ryn chapter here; but Fíli isn't quite as fortunate, poor lad. Next chapter is the start of the journey back to Erebor for our Prince and Healer—more adventure and danger and trouble to be had for them, so enjoy the fluff while it lasts! Also, Ryn's dress and the handfasting cord can be viewed on my My Hobbit AU! pinterest page (River Steele on Pinterest).

As always, a million thanks to all of you who read, review, and follow; and a special shout-out to **summerald**, fellow author and friend extraordinaire!

Enjoy!

* * *

Later that evening, Kíli stood in the main room of his mother's quarters, with his company and a few old friends of their family, awaiting his _bandinh_. Unlike a wedding, there was no grand entrance for the lass; instead, she and her beloved would walk to the ceremony hand in hand, a symbol of how they would walk through life. The entire _mahkurush_ ceremony was intended to be less formal than an actual wedding, for which Kíli was grateful.

If he was this nervous for a _mahkurush_, how much of a wreck would he be on his wedding day?

He wiped sweaty palms on his soft black trousers—his nice pair he'd dug out of a crate in his room, along with his deep blue tunic trimmed in silver and his black boots.

"You look terrible," Rognus stated as he came alongside his friend. Kíli scowled. "I'm wearing my nicest clothes, I am clean and my hair is even braided. What more do you want?"

The lad grinned. "You look like you might pass out."

"I'm nervous," Kíli muttered. "What if I do something awful like forget everything? Or start to cry? Or—"

"—Kíli." Rognus interrupted. "You're going to be fine. Your mum will be right there to help if you forget a line or something. And Ryn doesn't seem the type to much care…oh, Kíli."

That last was uttered in a hushed tone as Rognus looked straight past the Prince. Kíli asked, "what?" and turned around to see what had tied up his friend's tongue.

His own heart stuttered in his chest when he saw her.

Ryn had just entered the room, led by Anora and Dis, Sêla trailing behind with a ridiculous smile on her face.

His lass looked stunning. The dress she wore was of crushed velvet—an ivory underdress covered by a midnight-blue overcoat that laced in the front and back with satin ribbon of the same color. The bell sleeves were lace, and the entire effect was simple, but absolutely exquisite.

_Just like her._

Kíli was certain a lady would've noticed more about Ryn's dress, but he had eyes only for her face. Her braids were dotted with tiny gems that made the tooled leather look elegant; her soft curls tumbling around her shoulders. Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were pink with embarrassment at all the attention as their friends oooh'd and ahhh'd when she passed.

He could barely think when her gaze found him, and her smile widened. She walked faster, reaching him seconds later and looking up into his face, searching his eyes.

"What?" he asked stupidly.

She blushed harder. "Just trying to see what you're thinking."

His stomach flipped and he cupped her face with his hands. "I _can't_ think right now. You look too beautiful."

She gave him a dazzling smile and kissed him, to the delight of their small audience. Dis laughed, and called over the din, "All right, all right you lot! Let's head out to the clearing. Let our couple walk in the front, just behind me, so that everyone in the hub can see them!"

Kíli offered Ryn his hand, and she took it. He loved that he could feel her slight callouses against his skin—callouses earned travelling, saving lives (including his own), and working hard. The contrast between the story her hands told and the polished, almost-ethereal beauty beside him made his brain stall.

She was real, and perfect, and radiant.

And she was _his_.

They were greeted by cheers and applause as they made their way through the central hub, but no one followed—everyone recognized a _mahkurush_ when they saw one; and while they were overjoyed to see their Prince having such a ceremony at the Halls he'd grown up in, they respected that it was a private affair, and so kept their distance.

Dis led them outside the Main Gate and about a quarter of a mile into the surrounding woods. She stopped inside a small clearing with a quiet brook running alongside it. Winter still held here in the mountains, but spring was just starting to burst through—the deciduous trees were bare but for several tiny green buds dotting their branches. The pines outnumbered them greatly, though, ever green and fragrant. Kíli took a deep breath of the cool mountain air and smiled—it was a scent that filled him with peace and joy, reminiscent of overnight hunting trips with Fíli and Thorin, archery lessons, and the sundry adventures of childhood that he, Fíli, Anora, and Sêla had got up to in this very clearing.

Ryn squeezed his hand, watching with wide eyes as their friends formed a circle around them, enclosing them and Dis in a ring of support.

Dis began the ceremony with the traditional announcement:

"Beloved Ones, we have gathered in this place to hear the oaths of Kíli, Son of Dis, and Deorynn, Daughter of Korâ, that they would pledge their hearts and bodies to one another. These oaths will hold until such time as their union is legalized through formal marriage, or the bonds are broken by mutual consent, freeing both of them from all vows and responsibilities to one another." She looked at her son. "Kíli, Son of Dis, as leader and protector, you make your vow first."

Kíli nodded once, then took Ryn's hands, covering both of hers with his. "I hold the hands of the One whom I love above all others. My heart is hers as truly as the sun shines in the sky, bringing light to every day and warming the earth." He finished with a smile that she returned shyly.

The circle around them chanted softly. "Of this we are witness."

"Deorynn, Daughter of Korâ, as foundation and nurturer, you make your vow second."

Kíli shivered as her voice reached his ears, soft but steady. "I hold the hands of the One whom I love above all others. My heart is his as truly as the moon graces the night, shepherding the stars and holding the darkness at bay."

"Of this we are witness."

Dis smiled, looking at the two, and pulled from the folds of her dress a long cord of woven leather strips. "As your hearts have been bound together by the bonds of love, loyalty, and honor; so too now will your hands be bound before your kith and kin by the same." She laid the cord over both their wrists, creating a loop and tying it back on itself, then once more over their entwined fingers before allowing the beaded ends to hang freely. "White for love, pure and complete. Brown for loyalty, the unmoving steadfastness of earth. Blue for honor, the trust and esteem you hold for one another.

"As your hands are joined together now, may Mahal and all the Valar bear witness with these gathered, that your lives and spirits are joined in a union of love and trust. May your love be like unto the stars; a constant and gentle source of light, comfort even in the darkest times. May your love be like unto the earth; a firm foundation from which to grow."

Kíli couldn't hold back the laugh of delight that escaped him as he leaned forward and kissed his _bandinh_. Their friends cheered around them and when he pulled back, Ryn's eyes were clearer than they had been in weeks, perhaps even months, from before the battle where she nearly gave everything to save him.

He kissed her again, wondering if she would ever truly know how he loved her.

He determined right then that she would never have to guess.

* * *

Halfway across Arda, far too the North and West, a party of large orcs were camped just north of Mirkwood Forest. They had a crude camp made up; several sitting round the fire eating what was left of the kills Mistress Yusräa had left for them on the road. The smaller members of the party bickered over scraps, while the larger orcs feasted, as was proper. One of the scuffles quickly escalated into a full-on fight, and the orcs began growling bets and laughing when blood was drawn.

Bashkuga, second-in-command of the Núrzum tribe, observed it all passively. He was much more concerned about the whelp that was standing far too close to the long crate that held their prize. He kicked him mercilessly, and the younger orc jumped away with a squeal of consternation.

"Stay away! She is _not_ for eating!" Bashkuga barked.

A wave of disapproval from his group met this order, and he glared. "Do any of you wish to answer to the Mistress when she finds out you've eaten her captive?"

Silence.

"I thought not. We will take her to Helcënost, as ordered, and then—_perhaps_—after the Mistress has completed her mission, we will be allowed to throw her in the Pit."

A gravelly voice spoke up, a smaller orc archer named Kaknâz. "Her and the dwarf warrior? The young one?" Several of the orcs laughed, crass gestures and lewd comments being bandied about as they contemplated the show _that_ would generate.

"Maybe," Bashkuga growled. "But we have to get this one—" he kicked the box "—to the castle first. So hurry up and eat so we can move!"

His subordinates dug into their revolting feast without further protest.

* * *

For the first time, Fíli was quite enjoying himself at a State Dinner. It could've been because this was the most organized one yet in Erebor, the King's Hall having just finished being renovated after Smaug's long stay there. It might've been because Frâr was much less like a guard and much more like a friend after their pub adventure a few days before. It might even have been because the council barked at him less when he had a lassie on his arm.

But Fíli suspected it was really more pleasant because he had decided he quite liked Nalla, Daughter of Duron, Princess of Ered Mithrin. She was lovely, and laughed easily; her smile was bewitching, and she was a fantastic dancer.

And there was just…_something_…about her he couldn't quite place. Something he wanted, something he felt like he needed, even.

He decided to think on it in the morning. For now, Nalla was tugging on his hand, begging for another dance, and he was happy to oblige.

They whirled and stomped, a pretty flush rising in her cheeks from the exertion, her eyes sparkling in the light from a hundred torches. Her gaze met his and held it. He smiled, and she grinned back; and Fíli felt a jolt of desire shoot down his spine.

Was this what Kíli felt when he looked at Ryn?

Somehow, the thought of his brother irked him a bit. The air-headed lad knew little about love; Fíli was pretty positive he felt nothing like this around Ryn. Fíli could barely _breathe_ when Nalla held his gaze; his mind was consumed by thoughts of her.

Kíli was never _consumed_ by Ryn. They were far too…friendly…for that. Their love didn't run that deeply.

He didn't want to ever leave Nalla's side. Frâr looked at him askance later that night when he said as much.

"You've…only just met her, Fíli."

Fíli rounded on him. "So? When it's right, you know it's right!"

"I don't trust her."

"You're not the one interested in her, so I fail to see how that's relevant."

"If it concerns your safety, it's relevant."

Fíli scoffed. "It is not a matter of safety. What's she going to do, kill me with her eyelashes?"

Frâr just glared. "I don't _know_, Fíli, and neither do you. Because you don't _know_ her at all! You met her all of six hours ago!"

"You forget yourself, Captain," Fíli growled. "You'll not address me so informally!"

Frâr looked taken aback, and vaguely, Fíli recognized the pain of rejection in his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to care. There was nothing _wrong_ with Nalla! And Frâr had no right to interfere with his choice of a bride, anyway!

"Right, your Highness," Frâr said coldly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Fíli returned, just as icily.

But it was _not_ a good night, not for the King Under the Mountain. He tossed and turned in his bed, unable to settle, feeling a desperate need to see the lass again. Images of her—her smile, her laugh, her eyes—tormented his every thought, until he cursed propriety and rose from his bed.

He left his room, ordering the guards to stay where they were, and made his way to the Royal Guest quarters, not far away. He knocked softly on the door he knew belonged to the Princess, and smiled when she opened it, eyes bleary.

"I'm sorry for waking you, my Lady."

"It's no trouble," she blinked and smiled. "Is all well?"

"All is well," he lied. "Only I missed you. I…had a wonderful time tonight, and I don't believe I ever said a proper goodnight."

Her smile turned coy, and Fíli's heart stuttered. "A proper goodnight, my Lord?"

He did not respond, except to close the distance between them and kiss her soundly. She shivered and returned the kiss eagerly, giggling into his mouth. Fíli's brain registered a blessed peace he hadn't felt since meeting her all those…_had it only been hours ago_? It felt like it'd been ages.

Mahal, he _needed_ her.

He moaned into her mouth and moved closer, holding her flush against his body, and she wrapped her arms round his neck. Their embrace was fierce and needy, and lasted several minutes before she rolled her hips against him and pulled away, leaving Fíli gasping for air.

"Oh, my lord," she panted, that coy smile still planted firmly on her face. "We really must stop now, I cannot continue so. None of this is proper, you understand."

Fíli growled in frustration and kissed her again. She allowed it, but pushed him away a moment later.

"No."

Fíli blinked, feeling as though he'd been slapped in the face. The lass had said no, how dare he try to continue?

_Mother would castrate you, bastard._

He bowed a little stiffly. "I am sorry, my lady, I will leave you to your rest."

Nalla stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "No apology necessary, my Lord. Sleep well." Then she shut her door.

"Not bloody likely," he muttered as he stalked back to his room, thinking dark thoughts.

* * *

Yusräa—well, Nalla, for now, she supposed—shut the door in Fíli's face and barely contained her mirth until she heard him walk away.

Oh, how she loved the powers of seduction she'd been gifted with! Her sweet manner had gotten her foot in the door (so to speak) with the King, and then as soon as she'd slipped the potion to him, he'd been all hers.

This particular brew was her most powerful, used only for those with strong wills and morals. It would drive the lad mad whenever he wasn't around her—a slow, steady torment, and _she_ was the only cure.

With it, and her continued good manners, Yusräa estimated the King would be entirely at her mercy within just a couple of weeks. He was halfway there already—she'd recognized the struggle it'd been for him to walk away tonight. If she'd been the type, she would have been deeply impressed with his strength of character.

For Yusräa, though, it just made her job a bit harder. Weak-willed and unprincipled people were easier to bend to her will.

Still, she relished a challenge now and then. Soon enough, the young King would be hers.

_Then_ she would get him to tell her all about the mithril rooms that useless craven Kerif had screamed about when she tortured him, and as soon as she had information about those….

Well. It would be easy enough to beg the King to take her, and then stick a dagger in him as soon as he was completely vulnerable.

She grinned in the darkness.

It was the perfect plan. Cautious and brilliant and not at all suspicious—the council, at least, would be _thrilled_ Fíli had found someone to give him an heir—and as a bonus, she would get to bed the most powerful dwarf in all of Middle Earth. He wasn't bad looking either, and a damn good kisser.

She touched her lips, still smiling, and rolled over to sleep.

_Perfect_.

* * *

Ryn's eyelids fluttered open to quiet near-darkness. She drowsed, not quite ready to wake yet; Kíli's heart beat under her ear and his body heat warmed her from the inside out. Supremely comfortable, refreshed and rested, and having suffered no nightmares the night before; Ryn was not eager to move from this spot.

The caravan was leaving the next morning, so there was much to be done today; Ryn was fairly certain Kíli would be whisked away from her within moments of them leaving this room, and she probably wouldn't see him until late that night.

She snuggled closer.

_My bandhún._

Kíli's chest rumbled as he groaned, waking slowly, his hand beginning to trace her spine. She looked up at him just as he opened his eyes and met her gaze. His lips curled into a sleepy smile, and he kissed her forehead.

"Good morning, _idúzhib_."

"Mmmm," she hummed her agreement. "Did you sleep well?"

His smile turned wicked. "Once I _got_ to sleep, yes. A beautiful woman kept me up half the night."

Ryn giggled, kissing his chest. "Funny coincidence, that. I was distracted from sleeping by a devastatingly handsome man for _hours_."

"Was he worth losing a bit of sleep?"

"Are you kidding? He was worth losing an entire _night's_ sleep."

He laughed and she sighed. "I don't want to get up," she murmured against his skin. He kissed her temple. "Then don't. We have the whole day to ourselves."

Ryn's head snapped up. "What?"

"Mother insisted," he laughed. "Said the two of us needed a day to reset. With our _mahkurush_ just yesterday, no one will think anything of it. So we're to do nothing but what we wish to do today." He nuzzled her jaw and kissed below her ear. "And what I really would like to do is not leave this bed for several more hours."

Ryn struggled to think straight, a sleepy sort of heaviness seeping through her bones at his touch. "But…the caravan…? We're leaving tomorrow, right?"

"Mhmm." Kíli felt it too, nuzzling her lazily. She closed her eyes.

"Won't they need us for organizing and whatnot?"

He chuckled. "What do you think I spent yesterday doing? Everything is basically ready, and whatever isn't, I've delegated to Rognus. He and Mother will take care of everything, Ryn." Kíli nibbled her earlobe, whispering, "and I'll take care of you."

Ryn didn't protest anymore, simply allowed herself to drift away in his arms for a while.

They did eventually emerge from Kíli's old room, ate some bread and cheese they found in the kitchen. Dis was not in the family chambers, probably out doing last-minute preparations for their departure the next day.

"Kíli," Ryn smiled as she finished her bread. "You grew up here, right?"

"I did."

"Will you show me?"

Kíli looked up, his brow furrowed. "Show you what?"

"Everything. Your favorite places, where you and Fíli played pranks, where you trained to use your sword and bow, all of it. I want to see the places that shaped you."

Kíli smiled. "Well then, get your cloak, dear. There's a lot to see."

They visited the central hub first. Kíli bought Ryn two small pies from a grinning vendor who gave him a wink when he took the steaming pastry.

"What is it?"

"It's a pie, but the fruit is indigenous to the mountain climates," Kíli said, already licking some of the filling from his fingers. It was a pale orange color, with almost a pink tint. Ryn studied her own pie, loving the smell—it was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. She took a bite, and sweetness exploded on her tongue. As soon as she bit into the wedge-shaped soft fruit that filled the pie, she gasped her delight.

"Peaches!" Kíli laughed at her exclamation. "I've had them off the trees before—only once or twice, they're hard to come by in the wild, and too expensive for me to afford to buy them—but I've never had them in a pastry before, and its just so…" She didn't even bother trying to finish her sentence, just moaned her appreciation and took another bite.

_Peach pies. Who knew?_

"I used to be addicted to these," Kíli confided. "The vendor, Enna, she knew me so well she'd usually set aside a hot pie for me when she baked them, just because she knew I'd get one nearly every day. These are preserved fruits, though; the best pies are made in the summer when the peaches are fresh."

They finished their pies, washed their sticky fingers, and continued their tour. Next was the woods, where Kíli showed Ryn his favorite childhood haunts, as well as where he killed his first meal—a hare that ended up in his mother's stew—and the grove of peach trees Enna (and some other vendors) got her fruits from. After that was the watch outposts, where Ryn was introduced to a rowdy group of young cadets, serious lieutenants, and gruff old battle-hardened warriors. They were all of them kind and polite; though she saw the winks and nudges Kíli was receiving when they thought her back was turned.

She found it wildly entertaining.

Last was the training grounds, where Kíli commandeered the use of one of the training rings and challenged Ryn to a duel. Laughing, she drew her daggers without hesitation. Kíli winked as several of the nearby dwarves stopped their sparring to watch the lass with the daggers versus their Prince with the longsword.

Her weeks of training under Dwalin and Fíli, plus plenty of practice on the Quest and after Erebor was re-taken, had honed Ryn's skills to a deadly level. She was lightning quick with her daggers, a master of bringing the fight much too close to her opponent for them to use their weapon properly, dancing aside and using their own leverage against them.

But Kíli had been trained as a warrior from the time he was big enough to even hold a practice sword; and though his skills as an archer were noteworthy, his abilities with a blade were even more extraordinary, if not quite as well-known.

And so, all things considered, they were relatively well-matched, and the battle went on for a good while; betting opened up amongst the spectators, the sound of sword and daggers clashing drawing more and more observers until there was quite a decent sized audience.

It had been nearly twenty minutes when Ryn ducked under a swing, spun, hooked Kíli's blade close to the hilt, and yanked, hard. It was a risky move—if not done properly, could've resulted in her losing a hand—but bold and useful. Kíli's sword clanged to the ground ten feet away, and her daggers crossed at his throat.

"Dead."

The crowd cheered and Kíli laughed, sweeping Ryn into his arms as soon as she sheathed her daggers. As the audience settled their bets—rather loudly—and wandered off to start gossip about the duel, he smiled down at her. Ryn's face flushed with pleasure, and she kissed his nose.

"Now I'm going to teach you to wield a sword," Kíli winked.

Ryn crawled into bed that night more exhausted and sore than she had been in _months_.

* * *

Endnote: The vows for the mahkurush ceremony were adapted from a website called "I-Do's to Remember" (you can google it if you like; I just want to give credit where it is due). The _mahkurush_ ceremony, in my mind, is similar to a Jewish betrothal—for all intents and purposes, the couple may live as though they are married; but unlike a marriage, may back out of the agreement at any time until they are actually married. This will allow Ryn and Kíli to be there for each other in the deepest ways, without having to worry about the Lords and Courtiers freaking out.

They're going to need said comfort even more pretty soon here. O.o

Also, the titles. _Bandinh_ (Khuzdul, "bahn-deen"), means Promised-One (feminine); Kíli's equivalent would be _bandh__ú__n_ (Khuzdul, "bahnd-hoon"), which means Promised-One (masculine).

Idúzhib—"My treasure" lit. "diamond" in Khuzdul.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Whew! New work schedule and duties means less writing time; hence the wait on this. Sorry, guys, but I don't know if I'll be able to update every other day like I usually try to anymore. HOWEVER, I promise to keep the updates as regular as possible (2-3/week is ideal).

We got a couple more talky chapters before the action really starts to pick up here; I hope this isn't straying into Boring Territory at all—if you think so, stick with me for a little longer and all the whump and kickassery will resume, I promise you.

Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, follows, and favorites. Guest reviewers, I can't respond to you guys via PM, but never doubt I read and truly appreciate your comments!

Enjoy!

* * *

Kili stood at the front of the caravan the next morning, unable to stifle a smile. He was their Prince, he really should've looked serious and imposing and…_princely_…but he was far too happy to care. He was flanked by his mother and his _bandinh_, his friends stood behind him, and his Oath-mates surrounded him. They were ready to begin their journey home.

_Home_.

Kíli was surprised; it was the first time he'd actually consciously thought of Erebor as home. The Blue Mountains had always been home—and would always hold a special place in his heart—but he supposed since Fíli was in Erebor, and his mother was headed there, then Erebor was home now.

And besides, he'd heard Erebor stone sing to him. While Thorin's Halls sang as well, it was a different song, one that never spoke to him as deeply—as evidenced by his constant desire to be outside under the open sky growing up. But now…he'd be lying if he said the Lonely Mountain did not _call_ to him; it was in his blood, that song, and it was beautiful.

_Home_.

"Ready?" Dis whispered to him. Her eyes were alight with excitement, and she looked younger than Kíli had ever seen her, as if she had forgotten she was weighed down by a lifetime of loss and grief and struggle. He wondered what this must be like for her; finally making the journey to her childhood home, to the place she had been hailed a princess, lived in rich luxury and had the best of everything.

It struck him, hard. If the Mountain was calling to him after being away from it for only a matter of weeks; what awful emptiness had his mother and Thorin (and the others who had lived there before Smaug) endured for years, knowing they could not go back, maybe _ever_?

He reached for his mother's hand and squeezed.

"Ready."

The gathered crowd included those who were making the journey—some with multiple wagons and carts, some with only one; a couple with none, the brave ones setting off and making a whole new start in Erebor—and those who had come to see them all off. Most of the settlement was there, in fact, and Kíli knew he'd be expected to say something, as the leader of this expedition.

But he was certain they wanted to hear from their Princess, the Lady who had led them since Thorin's departure over a year prior. So he pulled his mother forward, and she smiled at him before addressing her people.

"My friends!" she called, and there was instant silence. Kíli grinned.

"Today is a memorable day, for certain! Many of us lived in Erebor before the dragon stole it from us, before we became refugees. That fateful day changed everything for us. But we endured—we travelled across Arda to settle here, in these halls, and built a new life for ourselves! We overcame the odds and have prospered here beyond any of our hopes!

"But now Erebor is freed from the clutches of the Beast; and many of us find ourselves recalling the song of the Lonely Mountain that has resounded in our hearts through everything. Today, we answer that call by starting our journey home!"

The cheers were deafening, echoing through the valleys and hills on the brisk morning air. Dis continued:

"Those of you who have elected to stay, permanently or with plans to follow us later; we will miss you. You have been kith and kin to us for years, as we helped each other through the good and the bad times. You will always be welcome in Erebor!"

Dis stepped back, but the cheering continued for a full minute until Kíli urged his pony forward a few steps, facing the crowd.

"Dwarves of Thorin's Halls!" he shouted, and they quieted slowly. "I'll not belabor you with words—my dear mother said most everything that needs be said. Instead, I will simply leave you with this." He placed his hand over his heart, and called out over the crowd,

"_Mukhuh turgizu turug usgin; mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu; ra gaubd__û__khim__â__ gagin yâkùlib Mahal!"_

The gathered crowd cheered again, not stopping until the caravan rode out, the early morning sun at their backs and the shadows of night gone entirely.

Kíli's heart thumped in his chest, though, and he felt the shadow of ice in his veins as they departed the safety of Thorin's Halls.

_I _will_ have you, Prince of Durin, and until I do I will haunt your every step._

* * *

Kerif sat against the wall, breathing slowly as he took a break. The palm-sized iron chisel he held was slick with sweat and had cut into his hand multiple times, leaving his palms sticky and sore. Looking around to be sure none of his orc guards were about, he shifted his weight to eye the growing depression in the seam between the wall and floor of his cell. He put his ear to it and grinned, despite everything.

He wasn't raised by a miner for nothing, after all.

One of the first things his foster-father had taught him when he came to the Iron Hills was how to listen to stone; to hear its songs, its warnings, its secrets. Even among dwarves, Tel had been exceptional at stonesong, at identifying it and interpreting it—and Kerif, young and bitter as he'd been, had found common ground with his foster-father in this. He had quite the talent for it, so it had seemed.

And now he was putting it to use. The first thing he'd done upon determining to escape had been to tune into his surroundings. He was a dwarf—and dwarves had nothing to fear underground.

It hadn't taken long for him to realize his cell, deep as it was, sat just above a subterranean river—a swift one, if his ears did not deceive him. He also knew the stone between him and the river was not at all thick—thick enough to support his weight, certainly, and that of several others; but not so thick he could not burrow through it.

He'd pulled the small chisel from the inseam of his trousers where he always kept it hidden, and the last three days had been spent chipping away at the limestone when the guards weren't looking—which they seldom were. They really only checked on him at mealtimes, which was another way of saying the two times a day they came and threw maggoty bread at him through the cell bars.

_Disgusting_.

Which was why it was a little odd for him to be hearing them scuffle down the narrow hall that led to his lone cell. He sat up quickly, covering the small hole with his body and pushing the chisel back into his inseam pocket, and listened.

"Gargh, but she's heavy for a female!"

"She's a dwarf, you filth, they're all heavy for their size."

"Well how should I know, I ain't never seen a lady dwarf, now have I? They're damn ugly, if you ask me."

"Ha! That they are. But they're female all the same; got all the right bits for a good time."

There was wicked laughter at that, and the orcs came into sight, carrying a limp body between them. One jangled the keys and opened the door to the cell.

"We brought you a friend, little traitor," he cackled as the two bigger orcs threw the lass's body into the dungeon. Kerif scurried forward, escape plan forgotten (luckily, it was too dark for the retreating orcs to have seen his handiwork against the back wall) in favor of rendering aid to the unconscious dwarf. The orcs' laughter faded slowly as they walked away and Kerif was left in the dark with his charge.

How in _Durin's name_ had they got hold of a dwarf lass? Kerif swallowed the panic he felt; if they could get a lassie, how bad exactly had things gotten in Erebor? Had Yusräa made her move already? Was King Fíli even _alive_ anymore?

Had he just caused the deaths of hundreds of dwarves and a ton of trouble for everyone in the entire region by helping to hand over the most powerful dwarf kingdom in existence to a sorceress?

He felt the blood drain from his face at the idea. He was shamed, beyond repair; he knew nothing he could ever do could make up for this.

But perhaps at least _this_ lass, he could save. It would not absolve him, by any means, but…

He ran practiced fingers over her skin, pressing in certain places to assess the damage the way he'd been taught in warrior training. Skull, good; collarbones, intact; arms, bruised and lacerated, but nothing serious; sternum, whole; ribs…a couple of cracked ones, he was sure those hurt like nobody's business, though luckily she wasn't awake to feel them; abdomen—

He stopped. Winced and let out a shuddering sigh.

Her abdomen was a mess. His fingers registered the depression thick as a staff, ringed by rough scabbed tissue that he recognized as some sort of cauterizing job. He reached down and felt her back for the exit wound—which he found as well, cauterized and rough—and whispered, "oh lass, what did they do to you?"

Frankly, he wondered how she was even alive. There _had_ to be damage to her internal organs, she should have died from internal bleeding already.

Of course, he also had no idea how long ago she had been injured. The scabbing on the lacerations was a couple days old, but the abdominal wound could have been incurred an hour before, for all he knew.

He hoped she didn't die in this dark, musty, cold cell. _Mahal_, he hoped.

He finished his initial examination of the lass, noting the rich fabric and gold stitching on her clothes—she was clearly no miner's or tavern-keeper's daughter; this lass was from a well-to-do family, of that he had no doubt.

Finished, he took off his thick cloak (given to him during his stay in Erebor's dungeons and somehow overlooked by Yusräa, thank Mahal) and wrapped the lass in it, turning and going back to his chipping at the stone with renewed vigor.

He'd be damned if he let the lassie die in this hole.

* * *

"Keep your eyes closed. Are they closed?"

The Princess giggled. "They're closed! What are you doing?"

"Just wait," Fíli laughed, pushing her forward by her shoulders gently, guiding her steps. "Okay, step up; excellent. Couple more steps forward. Okay, stop."

_She's going to love this._

Fíli grinned, feeling like an adolescent, lovestruck dwarfling as he murmured in her ear, "Open your eyes."

She opened her brown eyes wide, and her mouth dropped into a perfect 'o' as she looked around the giant library. Tomes, scrolls, journals, and books filled many of the shelves—few of the documents had survived Smaug's attentions to the library, but Fíli had been ordering in new ones and putting scribes to work for weeks now. Add to that the discovery of some preserved tomes found deep in the mines three days ago, and suddenly Erebor's library was beginning to look like a real _library_ again.

Fíli was inordinately proud of it. And it wasn't even finished.

His lovely Princess had taken a few steps forward and was cooing in awed delight. "How did you….did the dragon not touch the books?"

He grimaced. "Oh, Smaug definitely visited the library once or twice. Very few of these are originals. If you walk a few steps this way—" he led her by the hand, "you can see that it's really not that full yet." The empty shelves were being dusted and cleaned, the debris from broken ones having been moved already, and new ones set up.

Nalla looked thrilled regardless. "Oh, but Fíli! It's such a wonderful achievement! Restoring Erebor's library!" She kissed him on the cheek and skipped over to one of the plush chairs, waltzing around it to peruse a nearby shelf. Fíli joined her, and she turned those bright blue eyes on him, batting her long lashes. The lad's heart stuttered.

_Mahal._

"So is this _all_ the tomes and scrolls in Erebor!? Even the most—" she giggled again and lowered her voice to a whisper, "—_secret ones_?"

Fíli laughed and spun her playfully around by the waist. "Hardly," he whispered back. "The secret ones are somewhere entirely different."

"Where?" she winked.

Fíli had to bite his tongue to keep the answer from rolling off it.

_What the-?_

No King Under the Mountain would give away such information, even under duress; and he'd just nearly spit it out _just because a pretty lass asked him_.

A small part of his head reasoned that no well-intentioned or well-mannered lass would ask such a question—and a princess should certainly know better—but he ignored it.

Mahal, what a sorry excuse for a King he was.

Nalla was speaking to him, looking concerned, and he had to force himself to listen to her.

"—was joking? Fíli? Are you all right?"

He stumbled back a couple of steps. "I-I'm fine. Yes. Feel free to gander a bit. I just—just remembered I have a-a…a meeting. I'll see you later." Without another word, he fled.

He _needed_ to find Balin.

* * *

Ryn was pacing.

She didn't usually pace, only when she felt entirely out of control in fact, but there she was. On the banks of the creek they'd camped beside, a day east of Thorin's Halls, sheltered from the others by a grove of trees, walking a rut into the gravel.

She was a horrible woman. There was nothing else for it.

Well, more accurately, she was horrible at _being_ a woman.

She hadn't really remembered it until today; she'd been alone for so long, with only (male) Rangers for company now and then, then travelling with (an all-male) Thorin's Company for months, then helping (mostly men) rebuild and re-settle Erebor after the defeat of the Necromancer….she'd forgotten what it was like to be around a lot of women. Raela was a female, obviously; but their relationship was obviously different than the one Ryn could expect to share with Kíli's friends and mother…

"My lady?" Rognus looked surprised to find her here, holding a fresh pair of clothes and a bar of soap. Ryn blushed.

"Rognus," she muttered, making to shove past him. He caught her arm gently.

"Lady Ryn? Is all well?"

She nodded. He cocked an eyebrow, and she shrugged. "I don't know. I….Lady Dis asked me…..today, while we were riding, the ladies were talking about the wedding, and it all just…kind of fell apart…"

"_Well, of course we'll have lilac," Anora stated, smiling. "What's a wedding without lilac?"_

"_And the tiara—it should be of emerald and diamond, do you not think?" Sêla chimed in._

_The ladies all ooooh'd, looking Ryn over as if to decide what such a circlet would look like upon her sandy curls. "Of course," Dis had hastened to interject at the look of complete confusion on the girl's face. "We'll take care of everything, dear; you need only give your opinion. It's your day, after all."_

"_Yes! For instance, what do you think of violets? Roses? Perhaps holly, even, since it's a winter wedding…" Sêla trailed off, thinking. The lasses continued then, spending the next half hour talking over the finer points of which flora she should have at her wedding, what style of dress would fit her figure best, and whether she should use the dwarven or human format for her marriage vows._

"_Have you a Commitment Gift?" Dis asked quietly, her face serious. _

_At that, Ryn kicked her pony into a trot, putting as much distance between her and the ladies as possible._

_Flowers? Commitment Gifts? Tiaras?_

_Were these things she _should_ have been thinking about? Should have known already? Things her mother would have taught her?_

_The familiar ache settled itself in her gut, the stabbing agony of the hole her mother's death had left in her life, stronger than she'd felt it in years…_

"So I was just being alone for a little while, is all," she finished, not looking Rognus in the eyes. When no response was forthcoming from the young captain, she looked up to find him hastily wiping a smile off his face. She glared.

"What? You think my ignorance is funny, do you?"

He shook his head. "Not at all, my lady, please do not be offended. I only find it amusing that you think those sorts of things are what make a lady…ladylike."

Ryn blinked, uncertain.

"W-what do you mean?"

Rognus smiled. "Ryn, a _Lady_ is so much more than just…flowers and tiaras and gifts. Those are surface things, things that any woman can do, regardless of what's inside her. You are a wonderful person, and from what I've seen, embody many of the things that make women _feminine_—nurture, tenderness, gentleness, intelligence, heart—even without all the outward trappings." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You worry too much. Anything you don't already know about being a Lady is superficial; and Ladies Dis, Anora, and Sêla will be more than happy to help you with anything that comes up, I'm sure. They may have overwhelmed you today, but I assure you it was not intentional."

"Of course it wasn't," Ryn muttered. "They just assumed I knew what every dwarf lass already should know. What if I have missed something really important, Rognus? What if…" the words came out of her mouth in a rush, before she could stop them. "What if I'm a terrible wife? To Kíli? I don't want to disappoint him."

This time, Rognus did laugh, dropping the bundle of clothes and folding Ryn into a hug.

"Oh lass," he murmured, still chuckling. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to that _tumunbund_. You'll make him a lovely, perfect wife. Just the one he needs, anyhow."

"Are you sure?"

Rognus grinned down at her. "Do I need to get Lady Dis to tell you?"

"No!" Ryn's eyes widened. "No! Please don't tell her, I don't want her to…just no. I'll just take your word for it."

"No need for that," Rognus answered. "Just look at Kíli when he's with you. He's more…_himself_, Ryn. He's more himself with you—all the best parts of him are amplified, while his faults are minimized, balanced by your presence. That's exactly what it should be like with your One. Believe me. You're going to be an excellent wife."

Ryn considered, nodding slowly. "I think you're right, at least about us balancing each other. I suppose no one is perfect _all_ the time, and we can work through any stumbles I have…"

Rognus just grinned, pushing the lass out of the grove.

"Good, now get out of here so I can bathe."

* * *

"_Mukhuh turgizu turug usgin; mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu; ra gaubd__û__khim__â__ gagin yâkùlib Mahal!"—_"May your beards grow ever longer; may Mahal's hammer protect you; and may we meet again by His grace!"

_Tumunbund—_Khuzdul, lit "empty head."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: And the plot thickens….muahahaha!

Many thanks to **summerald** for her beta work and assistance with this chapter; also huge thanks to **Princess Quill** for her constant support! Both these ladies have fantastic work on their profiles; I highly recommend it!

Don't forget to leave a review or PM if you're so inclined, thanks for reading! Enjoy!

* * *

Fíli walked briskly through the halls toward the King's Quarter.

_What was I thinking?_

They told him he wasn't ready for this, those council members, those lords, after Thorin's death.

_I should've listened. Maybe a regent wasn't such a bad idea._

His stomach churned.

_To need a regent as an adult? I mean, barely an adult, yes, but still..._

He was clearly not cut out for Kingship. Or at least not mature enough for it yet.

_You nearly told her where to find the Hidden Tomes just because she_ asked_. There was no duress involved, no pain, no trouble. Just an innocent question. And you nearly spilled all._

Balin would be appalled when he told him. Kíli would've been disappointed; Fíli could see the look he would've worn, and it wrenched his heart. Thorin was likely turning in his grave.

_Uncle..._

Fíli blinked hard against the sting behind his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. He was too old to run crying to his Uncle whenever he was frightened, even if it had been an option.

_Balin. Need to find Balin._

The old dwarf would know what to do. Would tell him straight up he wasn't King material and help him with whatever the next steps were.

Yes. Balin could help.

Single-minded in his purpose, he didn't see Frâr until he nearly ran the lad over. With a quiet 'oof!' he stopped, apology automatically leaving his lips.

"Oh sorry, didn't see you-"

Frâr stared at him, seemingly torn. There was anger there, Fíli could see it; but also concern.

"What?" he asked.

"My Lord, are you all right?" Frâr asked uncertainly. "You look...troubled."

"I'm..." Fíli shuddered. "Walk with me?"

Frâr nodded and fell into step next to Fíli, his strides steady and long. "I'm looking for Balin," Fíli informed him, hating that he felt unsure how to talk to Frâr since their little confrontation a couple days ago.

His Captain said nothing, but nodded and stayed beside him.

They walked in silence until they found Balin in the room that held the Ring of _Ozodlniti,_ writing on a large scroll. He looked up when they entered, and his face spread into a smile at the sight of Fíli.

"Ahhh, good morning, my king." His brow furrowed at the young dwarf's pale face. "Are you well?"

Fíli shook his head. "Balin, I need help."

The old scholar instantly put down his quill and stood. He placed a hand on Fíli's shoulder, his voice soft. "I am here, lad. What do you need?"

Fíli squared his shoulders. "I need you to help me resign the crown."

Balin blinked, his face still. "What?"

"I'm not...I'm not good for Erebor, Balin; I'm too young, too inexperienced, too...just not good for this kingdom."

Balin shook his head, still confused. "Lad, you've only been ruling for three months; don't you think you might be rushing this a bit?"

"No!" Fíli shouted. "Balin, I'm not cut out for this! Nalla just asked me where the Hidden Tomes are and I very nearly told her!"

Frâr's gaze sharpened as Balin gasped. "She asked you where the Hidden Tomes are?!"

"It was...she was only joking, she didn't mean it...but it very nearly left my lips before I could do a thing about it, Balin! I know better!" He clenched his jaw as he gave voice to the question that had been ringing in his mind since he left the library. "What's happening to me?"

Balin shook his head, drew Fíli's forehead close to his. "Hush, lad, I don't think this is your fault."

"How could it _not_ be?"

Frâr and Balin shared a look. Fíli didn't like that they seemed to be in each other's confidence, while he felt utterly clueless. "What? What aren't you telling me, Balin?"

"Fíli, your princess is...suspect, at this point."

_Nalla? Nalla has done nothing wrong!_ Fíli bristled at the accusation. _How dare they?_

"She didn't-"

"She asked you about Erebor secrets, lad. A princess would know better."

"And then there's this," Frâr cut off Fíli's protest, handing him a letter. "It came this morning, addressed to the Captain of the King's Guard."

Fíli took the parchment and began to read, his knees feeling a bit watery:

_To the Captain of the Guard of Fíli, King Under the Mountain; greetings!_

_This missive is to inform you that we received Princess Nalla's letter today, stating that she had arrived in Erebor and informing us of the death of her guard and servants on the road. While the news grieved us greatly, we also noticed that she had neglected to use both of her seals on her letter, as the parchment bore only the sign of her signet ring. Princess Nalla has been possessed of two sigils-one on her ring, and one secret one-since she was a child, to guard against the possibility of her ring being stolen or lost and used to conduct official business. The lack of the use of her secret sigil is cause for concern here, and leads us to believe you may have an imposter posing as our Princess._

_We beg your indulgence in this matter as we attempt to discover the whereabouts of Nalla and her guard; and beg that you, Captain, keep a very close watch on your king and whoever may be posing as Nalla, Daughter of Duron. _

_Please respond at your earliest possible convenience._

_Respectfully,_

_Duron, King of Ered Mithrin_

_Parcin, Warmaster_

Fíli leaned heavily against the wall, scooting down to sit as his legs gave out. The lass...wasn't Nalla? He scanned the letter again. _Possibly_ wasn't Nalla. Maybe her sigil had been lost! Or she'd just forgotten!

He knew he was grasping at straws now, but his heart twinged with a very real, very physical pain if he tried to entertain the idea that Nalla was not who she said she was.

"In addition," Balin was saying, as gently as he could while still being firm. "There is the matter of your recent behavior. You met the lass and were instantly enchanted. You've barely left her side in days, cannot abide any word against her, and struggle to keep information she should not yet have away from her."

_Mahal, he's right... I can't stand it, but he's right..._

Fíli looked up at Balin, fighting the rage blooming in his chest at what he thought they were implying.

"We don't know what's wrong, Fíli," Frâr said, kneeling beside his friend and King. "But this isn't like you. You have not been yourself since you met her."

"I know I haven't!" Fíli growled, jerking away from Frâr. "I _know_! But I can't stop it! I cannot _live_ without her, do you not see? Being away from her is near-physical torture!" He shook his head, standing out of sheer frustration. "I only feel peace when I'm near her, and anytime someone says something bad-or I think something bad-about her, my chest aches!" Against all reason, Fíli suddenly realized he didn't care if she was Nalla, Princess of Ered Mithrin, or not.

The thought had him turning on his heel and running, completely heedless of Balin's shouts behind him.

He ran, through the halls of Erebor, past regal statues not completely destroyed by the dragon, past chambers glowing with soft firelight, past rooms and cheerful dwarves and down stairs until he found himself standing before Thorin's Tomb.

Fíli blinked, trying to clear his vision as he placed a hand over his Uncle's name, engraved in the white marble and inlaid with mithril that tingled under his fingers. He turned and pounded his fist on the wall, roaring curses at Azog, Smaug, the Necromancer, and everyone who had had even the smallest part in stealing his Uncle from him.

Fíli's chest ached as Nalla came to mind; the pain making him more furious.

_Uncle..._

Whatever hold she had on him, he would break it. He swore he would.

_Addâd._

The Erebor stone beneath his palms warmed.

_Help me fight this._

* * *

Yusräa cursed to herself furiously. She hoped she hadn't spooked the whelp: she had thought him ready; if not entirely hers, then close. He was so young, so naive, so fresh and untainted-he shouldn't have been this difficult to ensnare! She made a sound of disgust in her throat.

Why'd he have to be so damned noble and...principled?

It wasn't as if this was exceptionally difficult work, here: seduce the lad, ask the lad a question, get the information, kill the lad, leave.

But Fíli was requiring more than just seduction. She was having to be a real person, pretend to be the _actual_ Princess of Ered Mithrin.

And the longer she stayed, the more danger her cover was in.

On the other side of that; the longer she stayed, the more he'd come to trust her.

But not if she kept up springing those kinds of questions on him constantly. She'd just scare him off at that rate.

The sorceress squared her shoulders and went to find her prey, putting on her best worried face as she left the library. It should only take a few bats of her long lashes and a sweetly concerned question or two to find out where the King was.

Except no one seemed to _know_ where he was. He'd evidently gone to seek solitude; and anyone who'd seen him in the halls hadn't asked questions.

Yusräa scowled and set out for the gardens, where she knew he loved to spend his free moments.

He would come to her. The poison would make sure of that.

The stubborn young stripling would be hers yet.

* * *

Kerif dug rhythmically, the depression against the back wall of his cell several inches deep now. He estimated, at the rate of his chipping, it would take only a couple more days to reach the rushing underground river. The stone itself seemed to understand his intent, soft and pliable as it was (as stone went), the chips flying from his chisel larger than he would've expected.

He stopped, though, at the sound of a moan from behind him.

The lassie!

He crawled over to her, settling beside her and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder to alert her of his presence so he didn't startle her when she woke completely.

"Wake up, lass," he whispered, loath to garner the attention of the orc guards. "Softly now, quiet there. Wake up."

The dwarf moaned again, struggling to turn over. Thinking she might be having trouble breathing, Kerif helped turn her, til she was on her knees and elbows, sucking in air and letting it out slowly in a manner that made him think she was resisting the urge to throw up. He stroked her back.

"It's all right now, you're not alone. Just breathe. Stay quiet. I'm here to help you."

Eventually, she nodded, and sat up slowly. Kerif saw her blink, adjusting to the dim light from the single torch on the dungeon wall. Even in the shadows and low light, he could tell she was a lovely lass-dark hair and eyes, a respectable bit of hair on her jaw that had been braided but now was kinked and tangled, full cheeks and a sweet set to her chin that made her look younger than he thought she was. She was trembling, feeling at her midsection with her fingers, breath shuddering as she fought off tears.

To take her mind off it, Kerif murmured, "What's your name?"

She looked up as if noticing him for the first time. She looked momentarily confused, but answered him softly.

"Nalla, Daughter of Duron."

Kerif blinked. The Princess of Ered Mithrin?

"You're..." he cleared his throat. "You're the-"

A tiny smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "I am. For all the good it does me here." She looked around, confused. "Where is _here_, anyway?"

Kerif frowned. "This, my lady, is Helcënost. You are unfortunately a prisoner of the sorceress Yusräa. Tell me," he murmured, urgency evident in his voice. "What has become of Erebor? Does the King Under the Mountain yet live?"

_And the Captain of his guard, my brother whom I betrayed?_

But Nalla was shaking her head. "I know not, I'm so sorry. I was on my way to Erebor when my company was attacked by...something. A woman. Probably the sorceress you mentioned." She shuddered, and Kerif wondered briefly what horrors this lovely lass had witnessed. _Endured_.

It stung him. If he-_they_, now-didn't do something, many lads and lasses would suffer as she had, and worse.

"Well. From what I knew of her plan, it involved infiltrating Erebor as someone else-looks like she chose you. Imagine how ruffled her plans would be if you showed up there," Kerif forced a grin for the lass. She looked at him, wide-eyed.

"The sorceress thought to get to the King through me?"

"In a manner of speaking, I believe so, yes."

Nalla swore so vividly that Kerif blinked. She gathered herself a moment later, giving him an embarrassed grin. "Sorry."

"No, no," Kerif laughed quietly. "No need to apologize."

"So what's our plan?" Nalla asked.

"Can you walk?"

Nalla stood slowly, swaying a bit before seeming to settle on her feet. She took a few tentative steps before announcing, "if I must, yes."

Kerif nodded. "Come here."

He showed her the deepening depression against the back wall. "There's a river below these last few inches of stone. I'm not sure where it goes, but it would be away from here."

"That's the only direction I personally care to go right now," Nalla muttered, flashing him a smile.

"Oh, look," sneered a guttural voice from the cell door. "The wench woke up. Hey Kuzhk, look! She's up!"

"Oh no," Kerif murmured.

Nalla looked scared. "What?"

"The guards. Just...try not to listen to them. Or look at them." He took the princess' hand, counting on the shadows to block the comforting gesture from their captors. "Orcs are vile, disgusting creatures, and they'll likely be shouting perverted things for the next few hours. Just...sit still and don't react. Reacting only encourages them."

Nalla shuddered, but averted her eyes from the two that were now making gestures with their bony, twisted hands that left no doubt as to what they were thinking about. "How do you know so much about them?"

Kerif hesitated. How much did he dare tell her?

"Let's just say I've had more experience with them than any sane person would like to."

The hours that followed were honestly a form of torture, Kerif was convinced. The orcs called their comrades to join the show; jeering and gesturing, stroking themselves and each other, obviously trying to shock Nalla into a response. They told her over and over how lucky she was that she was Yusräa's prisoner and not theirs, and before the first hour was out, Kerif was inclined to believe them.

_Revolting creatures. _

Nalla, with skill that could only have been honed over years of council meetings and etiquette lessons, reacted not at all; instead, she sat quietly, staring straight ahead, meeting the gaze of the orcs that demanded her attention but giving no other indication she was aware they were doing anything but talking about the weather. She simply stared them down coolly, her grip on Kerif's hand the only sign of her distress.

The vile orgy going on outside their cell door became more and more rowdy as the creatures continued their perversions, until finally the original one shouted, "Kuzhk! Get the key!"

Kerif gasped, and even Nalla's face paled when none of the orcs bothered trying to stop the lumpy-faced one from running off to get the key from the hook by the dungeon door.

"Kerif..." Nalla shivered. It was almost a whimper, and he squeezed her hand, standing and pulling the chisel from his pocket, hiding it in his palm. It wouldn't do much good against that many orcs, but he was not about to just sit by and let them have their way with her. Nalla, too, stood, clenching her fists, ready to fight.

_Mahal, this lass._

Kuzhk came running with the key, and the assembled orcs let out a deafening roar of approval.

Kerif assumed a fighting stance.

They were jangling the key in the lock, shouting obscenities, reaching for Nalla through the bars (idiots, she was too far back for their grasping fingers), when a roar of rage sounded through the dungeon.

Some of the smaller, smarter orcs scurried off; but Kuzhk was still struggling with the lock when the largest orc Kerif had ever seen-the Dungeon Boss, he guessed-smacked him aside roughly. The orc flew ten feet and smacked his head on the wall, slumping to the floor, dazed.

"What is this?!" the Boss thundered.

Nobody answered; just more of them skittered away.

"Get out! The Mistress has given her orders!" Orcs ran for the dungeon door, attempting to avoid the Boss's massive club that was doling out punishment for their disobedience. "She is not for entertainment!"

When at last all the orcs had gone, amidst squeals of pain and frustration, the Boss turned back from hanging the keys on the hook and eyed Nalla.

"Not yet."

He left, shutting the door with a resounding '_boom!_' Nalla turned away, stumbled to the other side of the cell, and threw up quietly.

Kerif pulled the chisel from his pocket and began chipping away at the stone madly.

They _had_ to get out.

* * *

Kíli woke to the rather drowsy realization that Ryn wasn't beside him. He patted the bedroll next to his, feeling for her, but opened his eyes when it became apparent she was not there.

He was met by the early gray light of morning-what looked to be a beautiful morning.

_Ah, that's where she'll be._

Groaning at the stiffness in his muscles (training Ryn with a sword was great fun, but also hard work-though he was certain she was sorer than he), Kíli rose shuffled to the edge of camp, where he found her sitting against a log, her breath making little clouds in the brisk air.

Kíli smiled and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as she shared her wool blanket with him. The heat was delightful and made him sleepy; he nuzzled her sweet-smelling hair.

"I hurt everywhere," she informed him with mock annoyance.

He moaned into her soft curls. "Mmmph, me too."

"Really need to tell my swordmaster to ease up a bit."

"No," Kíli yawned. "He knows it's good for you, and for him."

She laughed and looked up to kiss him. "You are so sleepy, love, why didn't you just stay in your bedroll? You work yourself too hard..." she trailed off as she stroked his cheek. Kíli gave her a lopsided smile. "Because I wouldn't miss a sunrise with my lass for anything."

Ryn snorted, but it was more gentle than derisive. "Crazy dwarf. I'm going to have a time of it keeping you rested and healthy. Your mother warned me."

Kíli laughed out loud at that. "Did she now?"

But their conversation was interrupted by a large black raven that flew overhead to get their attention. The bird carried a message case, Kíli could see the small leather parcel attached to its leg. He stood and held out his arm; Qir quorked as he landed.

"Good morning, Qir," Kíli greeted.

"Fledgling greets the morning with Spring Lassie," the bird replied. It wasn't a question.

"Spring Lassie?" It was the first time Kíli had heard a raven refer to Ryn.

Qir bobbed his head up and down. "Spring Lassie. Hair like earth, eyes like new leaves, soft like new chick. Spring Lassie."

Kíli laughed in delight, nodding. "I see! I'll be sure to tell her. What have you for me, Qir?"

"Message, Fledgling, from Golden King! Golden King says bronze buckle, bronze buckle..."

Kíli detached the missive from the bird's leg, trying to ignore the pit of dread in his stomach as he cooed to the raven, "Thank you, Qir, good bird. Strong and smart raven, well done." Qir preened, then took off to get some rest.

Kíli unfurled the small parchment that held his brother's missive. His knees felt weak as he read it-an attempt on Fíli's life? And by one of his own guards? Kíli sucked in a breath at the fire of rage that arced through his spine.

How dare they? How _dare_ they?

"Kíli, what's wrong?" Ryn asked, standing. Evidently his face belied his anger.

"One of the guards...tried to assassinate Fíli," he answered, barely aware his voice cracked on his brother's name.

_Nadad..._

Ryn blinked, paling. "_Assassinate_? Is he...is he all right?"

"He's fine. Took a knife to the shoulder, but he's recovering already." Kíli looked at the date stamp. "And this is over a week old..._rukhsul_...Ryn, I have to answer this before we leave."

She nodded, squeezing his arm. "Go. Give Fíli my love, as well, please?"

Kíli turned and left, finding parchment and quill with Dar, the old scribe who was going home to Erebor with them.

_The second-in-command of my guard, Kerif, son of Derin, tried to kill me a couple nights ago. I hate to tell you this while you're on the road, nadadith; I know how you'll worry..._

As well he should! Fíli hadn't even been King half a year yet and already there were those attempting to take his life?

Kíli growled. If he ever got hold of this Kerif, son of Derin...

_Brother,_

_I, too, have much to tell you-though most of it will have to wait until we reach Erebor; it is far too sensitive to send via missive, even on the wings of a Raven. Suffice it to say, we have met up with the caravan and left Ered Luin. Tonight we camp outside Michel Delving in the Shire-Bilbo is coming to meet us and stay overnight, before we head south tomorrow. The Gap of Rohan is about two weeks' journey from there._

_We are on our way back to you, Fíli; mother misses you fiercely, and so do I. My bandinh sends her love._

_Mahal's hammer protect you,_

_Kíli_

He smiled just a little, imagining Fíli reading Ryn's new title. He wished he could see his brother's face when he realized Kili was now Promised.

He wished he could see his brother's face at all, really.

_Be safe, nadad._


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Thanks for reading and following; you guys make this so much more fun than it would be without you—and that's saying something!

* * *

Bilbo Baggins was not the same hobbit he'd been a year ago. Not only could all the residents of Hobbiton see it-and comment often on it-but Bilbo could feel it in his bones.

His two-day walk to Michel Delving to meet the dwarves of Thorin's Halls, for instance. It was much less of an adventure (though by no means less pleasant) than it would've seemed to him before that fateful trip to Erebor and back. It was definitely a mild walking holiday, nothing like the mad race to the Lonely Mountain, with foul creatures haunting his every step and danger lurking round every corner.

Unless you counted Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' horrible attitude as a danger. Having faced off against a dragon, Bilbo could honestly say he was not in the least intimidated by his cousin's antics.

No, this trip was quite easy and pleasant.

At least there were no orcs. Or wargs. Or ill-tempered elves.

Though, he reflected, Thranduil had turned out to be quite all right in the end; his lingering disdain for the dwarves greatly tempered by Ryn's healing of him and his kin, coupled with Fíli's entirely different attitude toward relations with Mirkwood than his Uncle had possessed.

He supposed a lot of people were very different than they'd been a year ago.

Certainly the young lady he could see trading gold coins for a few leather goods up ahead had changed considerably. Bilbo smiled as he saw his friend for the first time in over two weeks; she was smiling, her eyes vibrant as ever; but he noted an unfamiliar heaviness to her bearing. It was almost as if she carried a new burden since he'd seen her last, though she seemed determined to bear it well and with joy.

He wondered what he'd missed.

But that was quite enough observation. He'd _missed_ her.

"Ryn!" he shouted, speeding up to a trot as her eyes searched for the source of the call. She found him two seconds later, and the laugh that bubbled forth from her lips was pure delight.

"Bilbo!"

They met in the middle, a tight embrace punctuated with laughter and a few tears. Mahal, but he was happy to see her.

He pulled away, swiping at his eyes. "Let me look at you, young lady."

"Bilbo!" she laughed. "It's only been fifteen days, I don't look that different!"

He squeezed her shoulder, taking in her paler complexion and the sword on her hip. "You do, actually. I've missed something important, haven't I?"

A shadow crossed her face, and she hesitated before eventually nodding. "I'll tell you about it later, if you like. But for now...you must see Kíli! And meet Lady Dis!"

"His mother?"

Ryn nodded. "She's quite nicer than I had imagined. Not nearly as terrifying as I feared. And she likes me, even, wonder of wonders."

Bilbo laughed. "Hardly, my dear. You disparage yourself most horribly."

She nudged him, but they were nearly at the caravan's camp, and Gloin had caught sight of Bilbo. He'd shouted for Gimli, who'd come running, and the next moment, Bilbo was surrounded by curious—and rather awed, for Bilbo's courage was now well-known among them—dwarves, all seeking to shake his hand or ask him questions or welcome him into their ragtag group.

Bilbo was rather more thrilled at the entire thing than he expected.

His reunion with Kíli was spirited and joyful, and the Lady Dis quite as lovely as he'd imagined her to be-to have raised two such lads as she did, Bilbo wasn't surprised he very much liked the fiery dwarf princess. The day was spent in happy fellowship with his friends-old and new-and Bilbo was really entirely content by the time they sat down to dinner that night around a campfire.

He wondered when his solitary, quiet hobbit hole had become so lonely. He looked around at the cheerful, rather loud dwarves and marveled again at how different everything looked. A year ago, he'd have thought dinner by a campfire to be nearly barbaric, and his companions to be obnoxious and tasteless.

Now, he just reveled in their company.

_Bilbo, my lad_, he realized. _You are one lonely hobbit. You need a companion. Someone with a sense of adventure, and a good humor, someone rather more like a Took and less like a Baggins._

He made a mental note to keep an eye out for any such creature.

Meanwhile, though, he intended to enjoy this night; and he also had a mission.

He found Ryn a few hours later, settled on a blanket looking at the stars, enjoying the mild weather. It was unseasonably warm, and the half-dwarf lass needed only a light blanket to remain comfortable.

"Where's Kíli?" Bilbo asked, lying back with his hands beneath his head.

"He has first watch tonight. I thought I'd wait up for him," she replied.

"Ah." Bilbo looked over at her. "So are you going to tell me what's happened to you?"

Her facial features twisted into an extraordinary expression that seemed to be nearly equal parts agony and joy, which confused Bilbo completely. Ryn cleared her throat and sat up, drawing the blanket around her shoulders; more for comfort than warmth, Bilbo suspected.

"Aran is dead," she said quietly.

Bilbo blinked, mouth agape. "What?"

"Aran is dead, Kíli is being hunted by Melkor, of all people, and several of us have taken the Oath of Belhel to see the Dark Vala's plans thwarted, at least so far as they include Kíli and the Line of Durin. Oh, and also, Kíli and I are now Promised to one another; and there was an assassination attempt on Fíli's life."

Bilbo's brain struggled to keep up. He left them for two weeks, and everything went crazy, was that it?

"Wait, wait, back up. Start at the beginning, will you? I'm so lost..."

Ryn shifted uncomfortably. "It starts our third night out of Duillond, and there was this entirely unnatural blizzard..."

Bilbo listened with increasing concern to Ryn's tale. It seemed that fate was not yet finished with the Sons of Durin, and it vexed him to hear such troublesome tidings for his friends.

He wondered if there was anything he could do to help.

He _had_, after all, faced down a dragon.

* * *

The night was starry and clear, perfect for Fárbjóðr's meeting: his subordinates preferred the dark, but he required some light to see—so a starry, well-lit night was ideal.

"Dwarves come?" the one in front of him growled, his Common barely comprehensible. Fárbjóðr fought off a wave of revulsion: Valar, these creatures were stupid and disgusting.

But also exactly what he needed. So.

"Yes, they are on their way," he replied, speaking slowly so the dim-witted creature would have time to process his words. "They'll reach your lands in just under a week. Will you be ready for them?"

A nod. "Ready we are. Ready for dwarf-flesh!"

Fárbjóðr forced a smile. "Excellent, Zzhyr. Most excellent."

The Dark One would be pleased. He found it highly unlikely that this particular ambush would in any way damage his prize or his Lord's, if they were as powerful as Melkor anticipated; but it would definitely result in some highly painful emotional turmoil.

His grin turned feral.

Yes, he knew Melkor had changed his mind about the female Eiri, that he wanted her tortured in the most personal, intimate, and horrifying of ways before she was killed; but Fárbjóðr had a better idea.

He had a plan. A plan that would ensure not only her cooperation, but her loyalty as well-and would be far worse than what Melkor had in mind. A living death, it'd be, the most delightfully horrifying fate he could imagine.

And he himself would benefit from it directly, as well.

It was just too perfect.

* * *

Fíli tossed his boots into the corner of the room and undressed quickly, throwing himself into bed to seek the blissful oblivion of sleep. This day had been exhausting, and he wanted nothing more than for it to be over.

It had certainly started innocently enough, with his surprise to Nalla—except she wasn't Nalla—in the library, then his practical nervous breakdown and conversation with Frâr and Balin; seeking comfort in the tombs, looking for some sort of sign or help from his uncle.

He hadn't missed how the mithril and stone responded to him.

He wondered if Erebor stone was just perpetually tuned to him, and he to it; or if there were certain areas of the Mountain that were more connected to the King and his moods. He would have to ask Balin about it...

Frâr had found him, eventually, on his knees beside Thorin's tomb, clutching the white stone and letting the strength of it fill him.

"My King," he'd murmured, going to his knees beside Fíli. "Is there anything I can do?"

Fíli had looked up, his voice surprisingly steady as he answered with utter surety, "You can help me find out who this imposter is. Something tells me this has to do with Kerif's 'Master', and the Mountain is in as much danger as we all are."

Frâr had not gasped or clutched his heart in shock; he'd simply nodded. "Balin has a plan."

Fíli's smile had been grim.

But Balin's plan had not been nearly so aggressive as Fíli anticipated. Ever the sly fox he was, requesting Fíli continue to act around 'Nalla' just as he always had, while a missive was sent to Curi, the new Ravenspeaker-ambassador to the Woodland Realm, for King Thranduil. It was a request for information: had Thranduil's patrols seen anything odd on either the Old Forest Road or the Northern Mirkwood Road? Possibly a dwarf caravan, or the remains of one? The plea for assistance was accompanied by the promise of payment-Fíli's attitude toward gold in general being determinedly indifferent, and he wanted answers quickly. Thranduil had responded within hours, reporting nothing odd, but promising to send a patrol out to the northernmost parts of the forest to look for any signs; a patrol led by his own son, in a show of solidarity with his new allies. At the same time, Fíli ordered a company of Erebor dwarves put together to do the same thing; they were to depart that night, under cover of darkness, to search the most logical path between Erebor and Ered Mithrin, in the hopes that maybe some sign of the real princess Nalla would emerge.

Dinner had been trying, as 'Nalla' had been there, dressed in her best and pointedly meek after that morning's fiasco. He had done everything in his power to resist shuddering at her touch on his arm, annoyed to realize that whatever attracted him to her was still working, as his brain and body spent the entire night warring furiously with one another. He was disgusted by her, terrified of what her trickery might mean; but simultaneously, confusedly thrilled to have her near, the familiar feeling of peace pervading his senses at her proximity.

He'd made his escape with only a kiss at her door, and now, he needed sleep.

Mahal, he needed sleep so badly.

* * *

Kerif woke Nalla with a touch to her shoulder. She startled a bit, settling when she realized it was him and not one of the nameless horrors she had encountered in her sleep the last two days.

"It's done," he whispered, mouth to her ear.

They had alternated shifts of sleeping and digging the last couple of days, Kerif's poor chisel entirely wrecked now. Somehow, they'd managed to keep the orcs completely in the dark (so to speak) about what they were doing; standing watch for one another when they weren't sleeping, monitoring mealtimes to be sure they were never caught off guard.

There had also been no more incidents like the one that occurred just after Nalla woke up. Several of the orc guards still bore the evidence of the Dungeon Boss's punishment; so the worst they dared do was growl menacingly at her when they came to bring food and water.

The Princess had dealt with enough posturing and growling in her lifetime that it hardly fazed her.

Kerif found himself traitorously enamored with the lass. She was strong and confident, hardly a simpering waif; but entirely approachable and delightfully real. They hadn't come to know one another in the best of circumstances, but Kerif was sure she was someone he would really like to remain friends with after this was all over.

Which was ridiculous, of course. He wouldn't likely make it through this alive; and even if he did, the Princess of Ered Mithrin would never associate closely with a disgraced warrior in the King's Guard, especially after what he'd done.

He had consequences to see to, if he survived Yusräa wrath when he showed up in Erebor with her prize.

Still, it wasn't his fault if his heart stuttered when Nalla gave him a smile at the sight of the barely-large-enough hole in the floor of their cell.

"You're brilliant," she whispered back, and he was glad it was too dark for her to see his pleased flush.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded, running to check the door once more. Just to be sure they weren't seen.

"All clear!" she whispered, coming back to him. He helped her swing her legs into the hole. "How is your wound?" he asked, concerned. He didn't like sending a lass first into what could be a worse situation than the one they were already in; but this way if they were seen, at least _she_ had a chance of escape.

It was either send her first into the unknown, or leave her behind in definite danger. The choice, while unpleasant, was clear.

Nalla would go first, injury notwithstanding.

"It hurts," she replied honestly, to his previous question. "But I can manage."

He could only trust her, as she slung an arm round his neck and began lowering herself into the hole. The river seemed to be about ten feet below the rock, so Kerif thought to lower her as much as possible before letting her drop the rest of the way-after all, they had no idea how deep the river was.

Slowly, he lowered her, first using his torso, then his arms, until she was dangling by her hands holding tight to his. She looked up at him, and he could see unshed tears of pain in her eyes.

"I'm going to let you go," he murmured, trying to be heard over the sound of water on stone. She blinked and nodded, loosening her grip on his hand.

Kerif let go.

She fell for nary a second before he heard her splash. Another second, and she was gasping that she was all right. Kerif sat up, looked around the dingy cell one last time, and dropped himself through the hole in the stone floor.

The water closed in over his head, freezing and dark, and he struggled for the surface.

_Mahal, I hate swimming._

His head broke the surface a moment later, and he called for Nalla, following the sound of her voice when she called to him from several feet downstream. Swimming with the current, he was able to catch up to her in less than a minute; but he still couldn't find her. It was too dark.

He called for her, turning about in the water and reaching for her, but her voice stayed just out of his reach until suddenly, the current picked up.

He was swirling, being tossed about in deeper, angrier waters.

_Must reach Nalla._

"Kerif!" he heard her, nearly screaming now. "There are rocks! Be careful!"

Rocks. Figures.

He went to shout back to her, but got half a breath in before the current swept him under and he felt his shoulder connect with something sharp and hard. He yelped with the pain of it-_a large bruise_, he thought optimistically, _it'll be a large bruise and nothing worse_-and called back, "Yes, I am aware of that, thanks!"

"Where are you?"

"Over here! Nalla, try to reach me, I can't see you!"

"Well I can't see you either!" But this time, her voice was within arm's reach. His hand darted out and he gasped when his fingertips met soft flesh. He grabbed, and she closed her fingers around his wrist.

They pulled each other close, whirling through the raging current, Kerif attempting to position himself to take the hit if they ran into any more rocks.

They did, a minute later, and this time, Kerif wasn't quite so lucky. He slammed hard into the narrow space between two rocks, the hit further exacerbated by Nalla's weight added to his own. His ankle caught as the current swept him onward, yanking it hard while he twisted to try and escape the wedge. It wrenched, and his subsequent cry of pain was drowned-_literally_-by a mouthful of water, leaving him sputtering and coughing as he struggled in the icy water.

"Wh-what is it?" Nalla whimpered, holding to him like a child to a mother. "What's stuck?"

He struggled to speak past the water in his lungs. "A-ankle...wedged..."

The princess squeezed his shoulder. "Hang on."

And before he could stop her, she went under, the brave lass. He felt her hand on his knee, groping lower until she found his ankle. He cried out again as she twisted it firmly and it came loose.

Curling up, he grabbed her arm before the current swept them apart, holding her tight to his chest while she gasped for air.

Waterlogged and struggling to stay afloat, they drifted with the current, praying it would take them somewhere less dangerous.

Because for all their trouble, they could just end up in a worse situation than they left.

Just as Kerif began to think perhaps his cell was preferable to the escape-it was, after all, dry, if not warm-the river dropped suddenly out from under them. They both shouted involuntarily as they dropped off the twenty-foot waterfall into the (much calmer) river below.

The very first thing Kerif noticed when he surfaced was the light.

The rock above their heads had given way to a full moon and bright starlight.

They had made it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Hello everyone! Hey, congrats to any of my readers who are graduating this year! I know several of you who are, and I'd like to dedicate this chapter to you! Just like school, it has a bit of everything:

Action, check.

Angst, check.

Fluffy friendship, check.

Bad guys being, well, _bad guys_, check.

Huge thanks to **Princess Quill** for her assistance with this chapter, I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

"Gimli! Gimli, get Mother and make sure the others get safe across the river!" Kíli looked back barely in time to avoid the mass of sticky, black fluid that shot from the hissing creature's maw. It had taken the defeat of a few of his countrymen to realize exactly what they were fighting; even now, he had a hard time believing it. The horrors from childhood stories, the stuff of nightmares, the creatures he and Fíli would whisper about just to feel the thrill of fear and the gentle comfort each would provide the other while they giggled about how silly they were when they were afraid…

It wasn't quite so silly now.

Mewlips were approximately the same size as mountain orcs. Kíli knew the tales; they infested the swamps of Arda, their black skin covered in mud and slime, their chief natural defense the fluid they shot from their mouths to blind and maim their prey. It was a numbing agent of some sort—take a shot of it to the hand and your entire arm would be useless for hours; take it to the chest and your heart would stop beating.

The mewlip snarled and charged him, angry enough that Kíli was able to take advantage of its distraction and slice its slimy head right off. He didn't have time to relax, though, as a shout of alarm brought him about to see Sting working to dispatch another of the creatures, the sword's bearer scuttling backward on his rear, left leg limp and heavy. Kíli's eyes widened; Bilbo had been helping the others finish crossing the river when the alarm had rung out, and Kíli honestly had expected the hobbit to remain with the caravan.

Something had drawn his genteel friend into the fray, and Kíli worried to think what it was.

"Bilbo! What are you doing?" he yelped, horrified, but didn't really have time to listen for the answer as the gaunt creature before him snarled its disapproval at his interference.

"Mine," it grunted, coiling as if to attack.

Kíli jumped aside at the telltale hiss, charging his enemy and running it through with his sword. Stooping to examine Bilbo, he gave the hobbit a hard look; his friend was busy grimacing at the numbness in his leg, but he would be all right if Kíli could get him away from the melee.

"Come on!" he shouted, scooping Bilbo's arm up and around his shoulder. Kíli supported him as he stumbled to the edge of the overflowing Greyflood River, and left him in the Chief Healer's care. The Prince turned to examine the skirmish; see how fared his allies and where he was needed. He caught a glimpse of Ryn, perched on a rock and picking off the creatures with her ranged weapons, her aim true as ever as each shot equaled a kill. It occurred to the Prince she might be onto something, getting the nasty creatures before she was within range of their numbing goo; so he pulled his bow, nocked an arrow, and began shooting.

One of the young pages appeared at his back, running to and fro to ensure he didn't run out of arrows as the skirmish raged on.

_Nock, aim, fire._

There was a ruckus coming from behind Kíli, near the river. He hadn't time to look around and see what the problem was.

_Nock, aim, fire._

So focused was he on the mewlips before him, that only his adopted page's cry of horror saved him from being skewered on the end of a massive one's spear. Kíli rolled away from the (doubtless poisoned) tip and came to his feet with his sword in his hand. The Boss Mewlip (it had to be, it was the largest one Kíli had seen yet) grinned at him, showing rotted pointy teeth black with what Kíli shuddered to think must be old blood.

"Durin Prince," the creature croaked, its voice gravelly. "Not supposed to kill Durin Prince. But your bones would make good necklace for Zzhyr. Thick dwarf bones, worth much here."

Kíli fought a wave of revulsion at the entire idea of his kinsmen's bones being used as expensive jewelry. "Unfortunately for you," he replied steadily. "I'm quite attached to my bones. You'll not be harvesting them today."

The creature hissed and sprung at him. Kíli was ready, swinging hard to intercept the mewlip's war club, his sword cutting into the thick wood and sticking fast. Both club and sword were flung several feet away, and Kíli found himself dodging the numbing goo again, trying to put enough distance between him and the creature to use his bow.

He stumbled as he slipped in the mud that the battle had churned up, yelping as he went down and felt a bony foot plant itself on his chest. Growling, he reached for his dagger, but it was too far, his arm was stuck and he couldn't reach the hilt of it—

A furious cry reached his ears at the exact same time the creature collapsed on top of him. He shoved it off, his stomach seizing at the stench, and looked about wildly—there had been no weapons protruding from the mewlip's body, no goose-fletched arrows or carven throwing knives, which meant…

Ryn stood nearby, silver magic pooled in her hands, her face a mask of rage.

Kíli startled when she threw the shimmering sparks toward the fray, frowned as she almost smiled when six mewlips dropped dead instantaneously.

That just about ended the fight, as the remaining swamp creatures yelped and fled at the sight of their leader so easily annihilated by the short dark one in a Ranger's cloak.

Ryn grinned, then ran to Kíli, folding him in her arms. Kíli returned the embrace, shuddering at the entire situation.

Since leaving Ered Luin over a week ago, Ryn had taken up her protection of him via magic again. They had decided only to tell very close kin and friends about Melkor's plans for him and the ensuing Oaths and quest; but Kíli was sure some of the more experienced dwarves had to know something was up, the way their caravan was hounded by mishaps and horrid dark creatures. Knowing how nearly impossible it would be to keep up even low levels of magical presence over the long trip back to Erebor; Ryn had instead taken to using her healing gift as a weapon.

This was the fourth time in a week she had used Falancurú to kill multiple enemies, then taken the energy and transformed it into an explosion or blast to kill multiple more.

And what frightened him more than even her newfound abilities, was the look on her face when she did it.

It was triumph. Triumph and challenge and...almost _relish_.

He knew she had been killing out of necessity for over fifty years, knew she did what she did not out of spite but to protect him—and her new lassie friends in the caravan, not to mention the several children and younglings that traveled with them—knew she was simply reveling in her ability to keep them all safe.

But it was so wrong on her lovely face, that smile. He couldn't stand it.

Kíli shivered again, squeezing her closer in his arms as though he could hold onto her through sheer

willpower.

Ryn squeaked, but dug her fingertips into his back-he could feel her terror through his armor.

"Kíli," she laughed shakily, adrenaline and residual horror making her shake in his arms. "Kíli, you're okay. It's over, we're fine. I'm fine."

_Oh, Ryn._

"No," he whispered into her curls. "You are so far from fine, my love..."

It was perhaps telling that she didn't deny his claim, instead pulling away and, refusing to meet his eyes, muttered something about helping the healers before practically fleeing.

Kíli sighed. Perhaps his mother had been right in Ered Luin, and it was Ryn who was in real danger of losing herself.

* * *

The Sorceress of Helcënost was confused. And she was not often confused.

She _hated_ it.

_She_ was the manipulator, the one always in control, the one who could look at a person and determine how best to bend them to her will. _She_ was the one in charge here.

But the young King Under the Mountain was very definitely doing a good job jockeying for the position.

She couldn't figure him out; he had pulled back from her considerably-he was sometimes visibly uncomfortable in her presence, careful touches and sidelong looks having replaced his previous openness and affection.

He had to be onto her.

But then, why hadn't he just arrested her? He was the bloody _King_; he could have her head removed from her shoulders in a matter of minutes!

Or at least, he could give the order to have her head removed from her shoulders.

But he hadn't. He continued to be the consummate host, if a bit more distant than before; always polite, kind, generous.

It had been an entire eight days since the snafu in the library, and Yusräa had pointedly avoided asking any questions since then, thinking Fíli would drop his guard again.

But he hadn't, and she was getting impatient.

Perhaps it was time to take what she wanted in a less...passive way.

* * *

Being Princess of Ered Mithrin had afforded Nalla a lot of opportunities to travel once she came of age. Since her mother's untimely death at the hands of her father's arch enemy, Duron had relied heavily on his only child for counsel and support, utilizing her natural gift for diplomacy whenever she was willing to contribute it.

Which was always.

With a lot of travel, especially in the region, came a knowledge of her kingdom and the surrounding areas that told the Princess they should have arrived in Erebor days ago. It was hardly difficult: south and a little bit west from Helcënost should've put them at the Lonely Mountain in about five days, on foot.

But between avoiding orc hunting parties (the first of which had come far too close the second day after their escape), exposure, lack of weapons or shelter or proper food, and their injuries; their steps had been agonizingly slow.

Nalla knew they wouldn't survive on wild berries and stream water much longer.

Avoiding the orc parties had driven them so far west, they stood together on the eighth day, staring into the dark tangle that was Mirkwood Forest. Kerif's hand trembled in Nalla's as he took it in.

Or perhaps _her_ hand trembled in _his_. She supposed it hardly mattered.

"We cannot go in there," she stated softly. "We have neither the skill nor the ability to add Spiders to our current list of hazards."

Kerif nodded. He knew. She _knew_ he knew.

_He trembles because we may not have a choice._

To their north, orc settlements. To their east, orc hunting parties. To their west, no help to speak of until Ered Mithrin, which was a week's hard ride from here.

And to their south, Mirkwood.

"There are elven patrols in the northern woods," Kerif replied quietly. "I don't like elves any more than the next dwarf, but they'll not torture, maim, and kill us like the orcs will." He squeezed her hand. "They might even give us medicine, food, clean water. Nalla, I think we have to go in there."

The Princess startled as she heard shouts-rough shouts in Black Speech-less than a mile away. Kerif's face paled even further, his eyes widening.

"We have to go in there."

Nalla nodded, taking a deep breath to steady her shaking limbs and flopping stomach, and started forward.

She prayed the elven patrols found them first.

* * *

Ryn sought out her new friend later that evening on the banks of the Greyflood. She and Sêla had effortlessly become companions; the dwarf lass enjoyed Ryn's dry humor, and she found Sêla's demeanor calming. The Eiri lass fiddled with her mithril elf-rune pendant mindlessly, trying to work through the knots in her belly while she walked. Even several hours of healing those wounded in the attack-and a few that had been injured when a wagon broke in the middle of the river during the ford earlier that day-hadn't been enough to erase the awful wrenching in her gut that had developed as soon as the high of battle faded.

And since when did she ever experience the 'high of battle' anyway?

Killing had always repulsed her, even killing enemies; and even more so once she realized her magic and learned to use it.

But now, it seemed...

It seemed her newfound talents thrilled her. The rush of power as her magic flowed up her spine and through her fingers, the knowledge that no mere orc, wraith, or mewlip could touch her or those she loved when she was nearby, the undeniable joy of seeing her friends safe after she'd defeated her enemies yet again...she was beginning to catch a taste for it.

And it terrified her.

It was worse now; Kíli had seen it. She was ashamed of it; and to see the worry in his eyes, feel him hold her so tightly, as though tethering her to him like he was afraid of losing her; it wrenched her like very little else could.

She wondered if this had been a common occurrence among Eiri, this battle-lust; Galaron had warned her about using her power to fight.

To be fair, the first time had been purely accidental. Melkor had been about to destroy Kíli, to place upon him a fate worse than death; and she had simply reacted.

But now...

She saw her friend waiting on a large boulder, waving when she saw her. "Ryn!"

Ryn smiled and climbed up, settling next to the red-haired beauty. "Sêla."

The sun hung low in the sky before them, over the water, and Ryn shuddered when the first thing she saw was a river of blood; she bit her cheek to swallow her momentary panic.

But Sêla had noticed. "Ryn, are you all right?"

The girl shook her head, took a deep breath, then nodded. "Sorry," she forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just a rough day, is all. The river is very red, don't you think?"

Sêla blinked, shivering a little as she saw it too. "Ah, yes. Well, it has been a tough one for us all. I honestly thought we were going to lose Borus and his family." She squeezed Ryn's forearm. "Thank you. For saving them."

Ryn nodded vaguely, wanting desperately to change the subject.

"So! Erebor," she grinned at the merchant's daughter. "What are you looking forward to most?"

Sêla's eyes lit up, and she looked toward the setting sun. "Seeing Fíli again, I think," she answered. "I grew up with him and Kíli, so...being without them has been torturous."

Ryn smiled past a twinge of jealousy. "I'll bet you four were quite the hellions as children." She pretended to reconsider. "Wait, don't tell me. Fíli, Kíli, and Anora were hellions, and you spent half your life getting them out of trouble and mitigating the danger they placed themselves in."

Sêla laughed delightedly. "How did you guess?"

Ryn smiled. "I knew it."

"Fíli called me his _azinlaz_," Sêla sobered a bit, looking out at the setting sun almost wistfully. "He said I was his angel, sent to keep him from killing himself or prompting Thorin to do it."

Ryn laughed softly, but noticed the lass's mood shift. "And what did you call him?"

"_Tumunbund_."

At that, Ryn did laugh aloud. "He calls Kíli that sometimes."

Sêla chuckled. "The description fits them both, I think."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Ryn worked up the courage to ask what was on her mind.

Mahal, interpersonal relationships still tripped her up sometimes. She was never confident dealing with people...

"Sêla? Is something wrong?"

The lass shook herself, looking caught. "What? No, nothing at all." Her laugh sounded slightly forced. "Just missing him, is all."

Though that was clearly a lie, Ryn decided not to push it. _Yet. _

Instead, she threw her arm round Sêla's shoulder, soaking up the gentle comfort the girl's presence afforded her. "Well, just a few more weeks, and you'll see him again."

Sêla smiled, and this time, it was genuine.

"I forgot to ask you before," the girl murmured against her friend's shoulder. "And I'm too much of a coward to ask him myself; why did the hobbit come with us?"

Ryn raised her eyebrows. Honestly, she'd been as surprised as anyone the morning they left Michel Delving and Bilbo had announced his intentions to see them back to Erebor. When she'd asked him, he'd replied that he'd be making the trip in less than six months' time anyway, to be there at her and Kíli's wedding; so he figured he may as well go now and have some company on the road.

"He said he wanted to tag along, that he missed us," Ryn answered, hesitant to share her theory.

"But you think there's more to it?"

_So much for that._

"I do," she responded, shifting a bit. "I told him about Melkor. I think he intends to try and help. If I know Bilbo, he won't want to be safe at home when he knows his friends are in danger."

Sêla nodded. "He seems quite courageous, that one. For a hobbit. Ran right out in front of a mewlip this afternoon to save little Beryl when one of them snatched her up."

Ryn smiled. "Gandalf says most hobbits have untapped courage; they just don't usually have need for it in the Shire."

"Well, if today was any indication, I'd say Gandalf is right."

"He is," Ryn answered, thinking of Bilbo facing down Azog over Thorin's too-still body just outside of Goblintown. "I do believe he is."

* * *

_"Hír vuin! Tiro!" _

Legolas jumped gracefully from the branches of the massive oak tree to where his lieutenant was pointing at a pile of wrecked wood and steel that looked to be the remains of a wagon.

_By the Valar. _

Legolas inspected the rubble, pulling a scrap of rich velvet from the jagged edge of a broken (_and bloody, but he tried not to think about that_) axle with nimble fingers.

Wine red. Gold stitching, in the pattern of dwarfish royalty.

A few feet away, a pendant with a sigil he recognized. He'd seen it on official documents from Ered Mithrin countless times.

The House of Bar.

The Daughter of Duron had been here.

More shouts drew him up the short ravine onto a small path-evidently the road Nalla's caravan had been travelling on.

Legolas was nearly seven hundred years old. He had seen things that could make mortal men scream in horror, had fought creatures that made the Mirkwood Spiders look like everyday household pests (weren't they, at this point, to him and his father's army?), had killed in ways that made even _his_ stomach churn.

But this. This was..._nai_. This was unbelievable.

Corpses littered the tiny road and the area around it, in various states of decomposition. The Princess' guard, Legolas guessed.

But there was not just death here, Legolas knew. The torn limbs, scattered innards, shredded flesh.

These had been _fed upon_. The Prince of Mirkwood felt helpless with disgust and grief, the width of the teeth marks and manner in which the bodies had been scattered erasing any thought that perhaps it had been scavengers or wild animals.

No. This was orcish work.

Legolas growled deep in his throat. These were elven lands-the very northernmost border of his father's realm, true, but elven lands nevertheless-and were usually well-patrolled.

Something had gone very wrong here, and he was going to find out what it was.

But first, he needed to send word to his father.

His intentions were rudely interrupted, though, by another shout. He looked around quickly to determine which of his men were missing.

None. They were all accounted for, stances ready, watching him keenly for the order to move.

Nordir, his second-in-command, drew his long daggers menacingly. "Half a league," he growled. "East."

"Go!" Legolas shouted, and they began running toward the sound.

The shout morphed into a scream a few seconds later, and a familiar rage built in Legolas' chest.

The sound was unmistakably female.

* * *

Endnote: Quick comment about mewlips. They are Tolkien's creation, not mine; but they're obscure enough in canon that I can play with them. And so I did.

* * *

_azinlaz_-Angel, lit. "lady of the stars"

_Tumunbund_-Idiot, lit. "empty headed one"

_"Hír vuin! Tiro!_"-"My Lord! Look at this!"

_nai_-an expression of horrified disbelief.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: And here, ladies and gents, is where we reach the beginning of what inspired me to write this second story to begin with. This is where things get crazy.

Keep your hands and arms inside the car at all times, and enjoy the ride.

(Oh yeah, and **summerald** is awesome as always. Don't forget to check out her stuff!)

* * *

Fíli sat alone in his study, head resting on a hand as he pondered the missive from his brother that sat unfolded on his desk.

_I'm concerned about Ryn...taking my protection far too seriously...losing herself...Mother is worried...can't get home fast enough..._

Aside from Fíli's fear at the idea of Ryn in trouble, it was clear his brother had written the letter in a mood that could only be described as just short of panic. He was using none of the codes they had established for dangerous situations, stating outright exactly what his fears and concerns were; also, the use of _"nadad"_ was excessive, even for Kíli. The letter had too many references to be written by anyone but his brother, was sealed properly, and Fíli recognized Kíli's scrawl, so he knew it was a genuine piece of correspondence; but it was sloppy.

And Kíli only got sloppy when he was terrified.

So Ryn was in some sort of danger, Kíli needed his brother, and even Mother was frightened. And _he_ was stuck in Erebor, dealing with flooding from the recent heat wave that had melted too much of the peak's snow too fast. While Erebor had been designed with those sorts of hazards in mind, it had been too many years of disrepair for it not to make a huge mess, what with water sloshing everywhere in the lower levels. Even a good portion of the Main Gate was flooded. No one had been hurt, thank Mahal, but it was a definite setback in the rebuilding of his kingdom.

Fíli put his head on the desk and moaned.

"Trouble in paradise?" a sweet voice cut into his thoughts, and he sat bolt upright, looking straight into a pair of hazel eyes.

"Nalla," he gulped. _Mahal_, she was pretty. "What are you doing in here?"

The smile on her face slipped, and she backed away. "I'm sorry, am I not allowed in here? The guards didn't try to stop me, and I just wanted to see you..."

Fighting revulsion and an aching desire to hold her simultaneously, Fíli shook his head. "No, you're fine. Please, sit down."

She looked at the padded armchair, her smile returning as she dragged it around to the other side of his massive desk; shoved it close to his own chair, and sat down with a coy grin.

Fíli fought a sudden desire to pull her into his lap. He missed Kíli, and Mum, and Ryn; the ache in his chest was practically physical, and he would've given anything at that moment to have someone in his arms...

Nalla seemed to sense it, because she reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers.

"My King," she murmured, her voice low and gentle. "You seem troubled. Let me help you?"

Fíli was dizzy. _And why shouldn't I have a lass in my arms?_

His fingers curled around hers.

_She's not Nalla._

But she was someone; she was beautiful and real and present and she was leaning closer, her intent clear, eyes wide with uncertainty.

Fíli couldn't bring himself to stop her when she kissed him, fingers gripping the arm of his chair to keep his hands to himself. But when she hummed softly, contentedly, seconds later, he nearly lost all control. He yanked himself back a few inches, breathing hard and shivering as he fought off the heavy, peaceful feeling in his bones.

_She is an imposter! And judging by your reaction, likely not a well-meaning one._

"Fíli?"

He shook his head to clear it, allowing his hands to loosen their death grip and move to her shoulders. "Nalla, we mustn't. Any of my councilors could walk in at any moment, and you can imagine the reaction they'd have if I...if we..."

He shuddered at what he'd implied, but Nalla just laughed. "Indeed!" She kissed him once more with a grin, whispering before she pulled away, "Tell me about the mithril magic."

"It only responds to the-"

Fíli bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood, choking on his own words as he stood so fast he kicked his chair back several inches. Before he quite registered the action, his hand was curled round the hilt of his dagger, still in its sheath. Nalla looked up at him, wide-eyed and innocent, and he felt a sudden, frightening urge to slap that look right off her face.

The lass was _anything_ but innocent.

Instead he glared down at her, summoning every bit of strength that resided in his body to let go his knife and instead point at the door.

"Out."

Nalla stood, backed up, looking scared, but the young King didn't buy her act. "Fíli?"

"OUT!"

She fled.

* * *

Kerif had decided early in life he wanted to train as a warrior. That desire hadn't stemmed from the death of his parents, exactly, but it had certainly been strengthened by it. He'd entered cadet training as soon as he was old enough, and had quickly mastered whatever his teachers gave him. He'd been one of the few dwarflings who chose to specialize in more than one weapon, but he thrived with nearly everything he tried. He was deadly with a sword, terrifying with an axe, dangerous with a bow.

But the training that saved him now was that of the staff.

Most dwarrow paid little attention to the merits of "fighting with a stick," preferring the more impressive battleaxe, warhammer, or sword. But Kerif had always been of the opinion that in the absence of a forged weapon, knowing how to fight with a simple bit of wood could save one's life.

He'd never been more glad to be right.

The orc hunting party that surrounded him and Nalla now was far larger than any he was comfortable taking on. Almost twenty of the creatures surrounded the two dwarves, weak from hunger and exposure and sundry injuries, but stubborn to the end. The Princess held a large rock in her fist, almost growling as she dropped into a defensive stance at Kerif's back. The young lieutenant held a thick, four-foot long tree branch before his face, spinning the makeshift staff to get a feel for its weight and grip.

The orcs laughed.

"Look!" a lumpy-faced one sneered. "The stinking dwarf-filths think they can fight us!"

Encouraged by the laughter, another spoke up. "What's the matter, little traitor? Gotta protect your brainless little slut princess? Afraid some of us might take her for ourselves, are you?"

"Kerif, calm," Nalla's voice came softly from behind him, punching through the red haze in his mind. "They're trying to distract you."

"Well it's working," he growled back through clenched teeth. Nalla scoffed.

"Please. They aren't even creative."

Kerif fought a mad desire to laugh, instead focusing on the disfigured creatures before him, watching for any sign of when they would move.

"Enough!" the largest one barked. "The Mistress will be making her move soon, we need to get these two back to the dungeons before she finds out they escaped."

With evil grins, the orcs moved as one, closing in the circle around Nalla and Kerif.

"Nalla, down!" Kerif shouted. Trusting the princess to do as he said, he swung his staff in a wide arc over his head, knocking everything in a four-foot radius in the head.

The orcs left standing roared, and Kerif grinned.

_Go on. Give me an excuse to knock your heads off._

The group charged Kerif, and he was immediately swept into the familiar dance of dodge, parry, strike. Nalla was up seconds later, a battle-cry on her lips as she knocked an orc in the head viciously with her sharp rock. The creature collapsed with a grunt, but two more of them grabbed the lass from behind. Her roar became a scream, and Kerif turned to assist, only to feel his legs swept out from under him and a sword at his neck when he fell.

"Kerif!" the princess yelped.

The young warrior opened his mouth to tell her it was okay, just stop fighting, but before he could say a word the sword at his neck clattered to the forest floor and there was a heavy weight on his back.

The next few moments were a confused blur of shouts, Nalla's voice, growls in Black Speech, and the sing of arrows. It took Kerif only a few seconds to throw the dead orc off him and stand shakily, but in that time, every orc in the hunting party had been killed.

Nalla folded him in a quick, hard hug, and he shushed her gently as she trembled.

They were surrounded by elves. A single bow was trained on the warrior and the princess, but a tall blond elf motioned for his archer to stand down.

"Princess Nalla of Ered Mithrin?" he murmured in a smooth voice. Nalla nodded, her face still buried against Kerif's chest; he suspected she was crying and trying not to show it.

"She is," Kerif answered for her. "Please, help us? We need food, water, medicine. Ponies, if you can spare them."

The blond elf looked grim. "I'll do better than that. We'll escort you to Erebor ourselves. There isn't much time."

Kerif blinked. Did they know?

"We know there is an imposter inside the Mountain," the archer that had pointed his bow at Kerif supplied helpfully. "She poses as Princess Nalla of Ered Mithrin, and we know Erebor is in danger. Thranduil sent us to find you."

Kerif nodded. Good, that would mean less explaining on his part.

The elves were speaking to one another quickly now, and Kerif gathered that the blond one was in charge. He sent the others to run about and do various things, some preparing to leave while two others came over to inspect his and Nalla's wounds. Another was writing furiously on a scrap of parchment something the blond elf was dictating. His observations were interrupted when the blue-eyed she-elf treating Nalla let out an exclamation of dismay at the sight of the lass's damaged abdomen.

"This is beyond my ability to properly treat here," she murmured, almost nervously. She was young, Kerif thought, for an elf. She lacked much of the self-assured confidence the others possessed as she searched her companion's gaze, a dark-eyed elf with a scar on his cheek.

The more experienced elf spoke to Nalla, not the young healer. "Does it hurt?"

The princess nodded.

"We will do what we can, but you'll need to see some more experienced healers as soon as you reach Erebor, understand? King Fíli may even send you back to us if the dwarves cannot help you. We have the ability to heal this sort of wound, just not here."

"Will she be all right?" Kerif couldn't help but interject.

"Eventually. If she gets properly treated."

Nalla flashed him a small smile. "I'm fine, Kerif. Worry about your own injuries, will you?"

He resisted the childish urge to stick his tongue out at the lass, and turned back to the elf wrapping his bloody arm in a clean bandage. The blond elf was there too, crouched before him.

"What is your name?" he asked. "Are you one of Nalla's guard?"

Kerif shook his head. "I'm...Kerif. Son of Derin. I'm...I was a member of the King's Guard in Erebor."

The elf arched one delicate eyebrow, and Kerif knew he wanted more, but there was just no time to go into it all. "Who are you?" he countered.

The elf hesitated, as if unsure whether to accept the dwarf's redirect, but finally he answered. "I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil."

Kerif nodded, trying to mask his surprise. Thranduil had send his own _son_ to look for Nalla? He felt his respect for the new King Under the Mountain grow, as well as his distrust of the elves lessen. Evidently, Fíli had managed what his great-grandfather had not-a true alliance with the Mirkwood Elves.

_And after less than a year as King._

Kerif wondered how he'd ever despised such a leader, how he could have wanted-_tried_-to kill him.

It made him sick now. He felt a sudden urgent fear for his King, and asked the blond Prince, "Have you sent word ahead of the danger?"

Legolas nodded solemnly. "Couriers now ride to my father's halls. There is a ravenspeaker there who will get the message to Erebor more quickly than we could. They will be expecting us."

Kerif wanted to know more, but the Prince had stood. "We must leave," he stated in a commanding voice. "Marith, Nalla will ride with you. Arion, Kerif with you. We make for Erebor at greatest speed. _Noro!"_

The elves jumped into action at the command, and it was a matter of seconds before Kerif was settled securely behind his companion, latched onto his waist and flying through the forest at a speed he'd never before experienced.

But he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; he'd heard elven mounts were exceedingly swift. At this rate, they'd be in Erebor on the morrow.

The thought simultaneously thrilled and terrified Kerif.

* * *

Dis was humming a soft tune to herself as she scrubbed at her clothes in the River Isen. They would be crossing into the kingdom of Rohan on the morrow, and she was feeling rather thrilled at the idea that they were about halfway back to Erebor. The riverbank was full of other dwarrowdams who wanted to take advantage of the running water as well, giving themselves, their clothes, and their gear a good scrubbing, all while having a good jaw about their men and children. It was a pleasant scene, comforting in its familiarity, and Dis knew she was not the only one benefitting from it.

The attacks on their caravan had continued to come with alarming regularity. Three had died so far; one killed by a mewlip, the other two by bandits. The Company of dwarves was in mourning; regardless of the fact they'd known from the start not all of them would make it, it was still difficult to say goodbye to beloved ones.

The fact that Kíli's curse was drawing enemies to them, Dis knew, was a source of constant and nearly-unbearable stress for her son. She was convinced he blamed himself for the death of all three of those dwarves, and the thought concerned her.

Dis spotted young Ryn kneeling beside the river a little ways upstream. The lass had been crying again, if her red face and puffy eyes were any indication, and the Princess paused in her cleaning, debating whether to approach her or not.

Ryn and Kíli had had their first serious fight not two nights ago, after a frighteningly large group of mound-wraiths had invaded the camp at midnight. Kíli had reacted horribly to them, his keening cries and glazed eyes among the most terrifying things Dis had ever experienced, shuddering to realize her son was slipping from her. Ryn had been merciless in her attack of the creatures, destroying most of them in a spectacular display of magic before healing Kíli in a matter of minutes.

The lass had been fraying at the edges already from the attack and Kíli's reaction, so when the Prince approached her less than an hour afterward with the request she not use her magic to fight anymore, she had completely lost her temper. Words had been exchanged, outside the camp to protect their privacy, but Dis had known when they came back separately-and angrily-that it had not gone well at all.

Her son and his _bandinh_ had barely spoken in nearly two days.

But the question of whether she should approach Ryn was answered when the lass caught sight of her and started her way, patting her ravaged face with a small towel.

"My Lady Dis? Can we talk? Somewhere...private?" the lass asked softly, eyeing the gossiping dwarrowdams scrubbing away obliviously.

Dis just nodded and followed the girl to a more secluded spot on the pebbly bank. Here, they were shielded from prying eyes (and ears) by a small copse of willow trees. Ryn sat on a mossy boulder and faced Dis. The princess sat on a nearby rock, smiling encouragingly.

"I..."

The girl appeared to try and start several times, before she stood and began pacing furiously. Dis pitied her; she was tense as a bowstring, and ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

"Ryn?" she encouraged. "Tell me what's wrong."

The lass threw her hands in the air. "Where do I even start? Everything! Everything is wrong, Ma, I don't' know what to do! Kíli is angry at me-Mahal, I'm angry at myself, I was so _stupid_!-the magic is scaring me every time I use it but I can't stop using it because otherwise I'll lose him and I just can't handle even the _thought_ of losing him, but I think I might be losing myself and I'm so scared I can barely think straight and then I'm exhausted because it's not easy using my magic in such a manner as often as I've been doing so I'm constantly tired and snappish and then I just figured out this morning that I'm...I'm..."

Dis was still trying to work through the lass's use of the title "Ma" for her, so was glad the poor girl seemed to have hit a brick wall in her rant. She shook her head quickly, snapping out of it, and stood. "Go on," she murmured, taking a tentative step toward Ryn.

"I'm...my Time has begun," the girl finished, deflated.

Dis was confused. "Your...time has begun?"

"Yes! My Time! You know, my...my lady time?" Ryn looked up, frightened. "When a woman is fertile? Comes once a year?"

_Mahabruf_. The lass meant _mahabruf_, the time when dwarrowdams' bodies announced their ability to bear children. Often marked by sensitivity, moodiness, distraction, and heightened desire, it was a difficult time for most ladies. But the lass was wrong about the frequency; _mahabruf_ came once every three and a half years, give or take a few months on either end.

"You mean _mahabruf_, lass?" she murmured, nearly laughing that the girl's troubles were attributed to such an innocuous thing.

But Ryn only looked confused. "Is that what we call it?"

Dis sucked in a breath as it hit her-_hard_-the truth of what Kíli had told her regarding his beloved:

_She doesn't know many things we take for granted, Mother. Been on her own too long to know many of our customs and traditions. It still shocks me a little sometimes._

Poor lass probably never had anyone explain her _mahabruf_ to her. The Princess shuddered to think of the first few times, when the girl would've been young, frightened, not knowing what was happening to her; wondering if she was sick, if she might die, what was going to happen...

"Oh lass," she breathed. Ryn was blushing furiously. "I should've known that, shouldn't I? Known what...maha...maha.."

"_Mahabruf_."

"Yes, _mahabruf_. I should know what it is."

Dis closed the distance between them in two steps, folding the girl into a hug. "It is all right, _mizim_. Now you know. Except are you sure it happens once a year?"

Ryn pulled back. "Yes ma'am. Give or take a few weeks."

_Half-breed_, Dis' mind supplied. _She is not full dwarf._

Dis led the girl to the boulder and sat close to her. "It's three and a half years for full-blooded dwarf women. Yours would be...well, to be honest, no one really knows how your reproductive system functions except you, dear, since you're..."

"A mutt?" the girl interrupted. Dis squeezed her shoulder.

"You're different, Ryn, there's nothing wrong with that. Tell me about your Time, and then we'll discuss how I can help you, all right?"

"Well normally, it's four weeks of fertility: widened hips-though normally no one can tell but me, my trousers just fit a little tighter-tender nerves, the usual eye color changes, that sort of thing. Then there's two weeks of pain and bleeding and it's over. Relatively untroublesome I suppose..."

"Wait," Dis interrupted. "Your eyes change color?" Come to think of it, they _were_ a lighter shade of green, barely.

Ryn nodded. "They're normally plain green, like grass or leaves; by the time I hit the middle of this month, they'll be more the color of a sour apple. I'm not sure why, I thought it was normal. Your eyes don't change?"

Dis shook her head. "Nor do human women's, so far as I know. Must be your Eiri blood."

The girl looked thoughtful. "Oh."

"So," Dis continued. "Four weeks of fertility, two weeks of bleeding, once a year. Is that correct?"

Ryn nodded. "Right. Except this time is different, and it's frightening me."

"How is it different?"

The girl looked distinctly uncomfortable, a blotchy red blush staining her ears and cheeks as she muttered, "Everything is so much more intense this year. I've never felt so...completely distracted, emotionally wrecked, and physically sensitive. And my...desire...is nearly unmanageable. Kíli, he just...the sound of his voice, the scent of him walking by, his hand on my arm, it all..." she shivered. "I don't know what's happening to me."

Dis fought a smile, unsurprised by this. _Mahabruf_ was different for dwarves, too, when they took a lover. The desire was much stronger, distracting even, as their bodies ached for a child, for the affection and acceptance of their beloved.

But pregnancy was practically guaranteed if one slept with their lover during _mahabruf_. She did not know if the same principle applied to Ryn, given her parentage, but thought it better not to experiment with it while they were on the road, and she told Ryn as much.

"So you probably shouldn't be with him like that for the next several weeks, lass. It's probably a good thing you've been fighting the last few days, in that respect."

Ryn's eyes were wide as saucers. "Yes ma'am. I'm definitely not interested in being pregnant just yet. But how am I supposed to...I need to make up with him from our fight, and I'm so unreasonable right now, between the emotional craziness of this and the terror of losing him..."

Dis laughed. "I didn't say you couldn't be around him. And if you tell him you're on your equivalent of _mahabruf_, he'll know what to do. I made sure Thorin educated both my lads on just how to handle a fertile lass and everything it entails." Ryn's face reddened and Dis could see her holding back a laugh at the idea of the great Thorin Oakenshield talking with two red-faced dwarflings about sex. She chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure it was quite the sight."

A laugh burst forth from the girl's lips, pure and delighted, and Dis smiled to hear it. That was the lass she knew.

"Go talk to Kíli," she encouraged. "You two really do need to make up, and you'll feel better. I promise."

Ryn nodded. "Lady Dis? There's one more thing."

"Go ahead, dear."

"I read somewhere in Thranduil's library that the first man an Eiri lass couples with while on her Time, she becomes soul-bonded to. Is that true of dwarrowdams as well?"

Well. That was a new one.

"No, lass. And remember, there's no guarantee it will be true for you, either. You're not any more full-blooded Eiri than you are full-blooded dwarf. The rules are completely undefined for you." She stroked the girl's hair. "Do not fear. You'll get through this. Kíli will be there for you every step of the way, and so will I."

Ryn threw her arms around Dis in a surprisingly desperate hug. Dis returned the embrace, shushing away the tremors that shook the girl's frame.

"Thank you," Ryn whispered, almost too soft for Dis to hear.

_Almost_.

* * *

Yusräa paced in her room, like an angry lioness, thinking hard. The King was _really_ beginning to make her angry with his resistance to her charms. The poison in his system should have prevented this from happening-he was supposed to be entirely at her mercy by now! Nearly three weeks, and he was still his own person, making his own choices.

Yusräa roared her frustration and sent a bolt of icy magic at the nearby mirror, shattering it. She could practically _feel_ the stone beneath her feet and around her vibrating with a magic completely unique and all its own. It called to her, the power, tickling her fingers and toes and driving her mad because she had no access to it. Despite her current appearance, she was not a dwarf, and certainly not one of the Line of Durin.

So long as Fíli reigned, the Mountain did not answer to her.

It was time for a different plan.

No more cover. The next day, she determined. The next day would be the day Erebor fell to the Sorceress of Helcënost.

A slow smile spread over her face and her pacing stopped as the truth of it settled in her breast.

She was about to become Queen Under the Mountain, holding all the power that entailed, as well as the magic of the Mountain itself.

* * *

To the northwest, a party of twelve elves and two weak dwarves rode on swift horses toward Erebor, riding through the night.

* * *

Far to the south, a young lass walked toward her beloved's tent, hoping to atone for her recent behavior and explain what was happening to her. She stopped only for a moment to speak with the guard about her watch shift, which was at midnight that night, and continued on, weaving her way through wagons and warm campfire circles. She caught snatches of song and conversation and laughter, children running around chasing one another with delighted squeals and mothers calling them back to their family circle as the sun set in the west.

Ryn smiled at the gentle scene, thinking that maybe, just for tonight, she and Kíli could be simply two young people in love, and spend the night holding each other, whispering sweet nothings and taking comfort in one another's arms.

She quickened her pace at the sight of a light in his tent.

A call of alarm echoed over the camp from one of the watchmen. A woman's scream followed it.

And all hell broke loose.

_Weapons. I have no weapons._

Ryn nearly panicked as she realized her gear was halfway across camp, near Sêla and Anora's wagon, and took off running.

_Not enough time._

She could see a frightening number of orcs charging the camp, could hear mothers herding their children into the wagons while they armed themselves, little ones crying in fear, men shouting as they took up their weapons, fierce looks upon their faces.

The orcs-there had to be fifty of them, Ryn realized with no small amount of wonder and terror-easily batted aside the watchmen and were upon the camp before she could get to her weapons.

_Mahal, there's no time!_

Ryn charged the nearest one-suicide, she knew, without a weapon-that aimed for a young dwarrowdam holding a wicked-looking tipped staff. Her two small boys peeked out of the wagon, crying, and she planted her feet in a defensive stance.

Ryn marveled, but wasn't about to stand around and let the mother fight alone. She barreled into the orc, who had been so focused on the dwarf lass he hadn't seen her, and kicked his crude sword away as she punched his face as hard as she could. A roar of warning behind her, and she rolled off the stunned orc just in time to avoid the tipped staff that stabbed through its sternum.

The dwarrowdam gave her a nod, then backed up toward her wagon, standing guard over her children.

Ryn ran.

Sêla and Anora were in sight now, Anora's battleaxe spinning, already bloodstained, as Sêla stood over their cowering mother with a knife in her hand. Ryn's weapons were right next to her, and she skidded to a halt, barely having time to draw her sword before an orc was upon them. Sêla yelped, missing the attacking creature and accidentally slicing into Ryn's arm instead as the half-dwarf lass ran the creature through with a cry of rage and pain.

"Oh Mahal, Ryn, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"-Hush," Ryn growled, alert for more orcs, "it wasn't your fault, I jumped in front of you. It's fine, anyway."

Her eyes were drawn by Anora's call for aid, and she jumped forward. "Sêla, stay there! I'll be right back!"

She made it to Anora barely in time, Naryaturë singing as she intercepted a blow that would've removed the lass's head from her shoulders.

"Thanks," Anora called breathlessly, wrenching her axe from her enemy's skull.

"Anytime."

They grinned at one another a moment too long, for the press of the main battle had moved their way, and Sêla's scream of terror came moments too late. Anora shouted her sister's name as Ryn turned.

Her young friend was struggling in the arms of a massive orc, their mother lying in a bloody heap at its feet.

"No! Mama! Mama!" Sêla screamed.

Ryn was only vaguely aware of Anora sprinting past her, struggling to hold onto the present as the past assaulted her

_"Mama! Mama, please wake up! Khagan..."_

_"Promise me you will live well. Tak natu yenet, mizim..."_

The big orc was dragging Sêla away. Anora was fighting toward her sister, but there was no time.

_No time..._

The creature struck the struggling dwarf lass with the hilt of his sword, and Ryn saw red.

The magic came without her permission, without her calling for it, raging like a white-hot fire through her veins. She was only vaguely aware of the Falancurú, barely felt the draw of power from the enemies around her, couldn't even hear the concussion when she created the most powerful explosion she'd ever done, right in the midst of a knot of orcs. Bodies went flying, seemingly in slow motion, and Ryn caught sight of Sêla's red hair flying in the wind. Her friend landed like a limp doll on top of a dead orc, but Ryn couldn't move.

Her ears were ringing, her nerves singing, breath coming in short gasps. Her heart pounded as she seemed to realize belatedly:

She was surrounded by destruction. But it wasn't just orcs.

Dwarf warriors lay around her too, stirring weakly, and she couldn't concentrate enough to access her Sight to check on them.

She stood, swaying, still in shock.

_What?_

Kíli appeared, kneeling next to a warrior who had fallen. Had she done that? No marks upon his armor, no arrows protruding from his body...Ryn recognized his sword and her heart stopped.

It was Rognus.

And yes, she had done this.

She had...

Anora was beside Sêla, panicking, crying.

Ryn's knees felt like water as Kíli looked up at her, standing in a circle of death.

She couldn't hear his words, but she could read his lips, and they echoed the only coherent thought in her head.

_What have you done?_


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: This chapter is brought to you courtesy of **BlueRiverSteel's** blood, sweat, and tears; and **summerald's** intrinsic awesomeness and proofing abilities!

Words in Black Speech or Khuzdul are translated at the bottom.

Enjoy!

* * *

The orc attack and Ryn's subsequent show of rage left most of the caravan in a state of shock. Kíli spent the night fielding questions, concerns, and angry rants; some of the dwarves called for the lass's banishment from their company, others her execution, both suggestions that Kíli found wore on his nerves as the night went on. Most, though, simply required an explanation and reassurance that the Prince's strange betrothed meant them no harm. For these, Kíli simply told them of her Eiri heritage and pointed to the lass, working ceaselessly in the infirmary to heal what damage she had done and more. Dis assisted her son through the night, as did Rognus, to Kíli's surprise.

"She won the battle, and then healed me," was all he would say when they asked why he so quickly defended the one who'd nearly killed him.

By the time dawn's gray light began creeping over the camp, all the dwarves who had been injured in the night's attack were back safe with their families, and the few who had died (thankfully, none of them at Ryn's hand) were being dealt with appropriately. Rognus approached Kíli, who was swaying on his feet when he stood a bit too fast.

"Kíli, you need to-"

"No," Kíli interrupted. "I have to find Ryn."

Rognus smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that. Last I saw, she was with Bilbo, still healing away. Not sure where she'll be now that all the healing's done."

Kíli nodded. "I think I know."

He set off for the riverbank; there was a comfortable spot that would be perfect for watching the sun come up just south of camp, a spot he'd planned to take her this morning in an attempt to apologize for his recent behavior. He knew she meant well using her magic to fight, knew she did it to defend those she loved, to avoid becoming that dwarfling she'd been when she watched her family murdered all those years ago. He also had come to realize, after two days' hard thinking, that asking her not to use her magic to defend what she held dear was like taking his bow and long sword and tossing him into a battle with only his bare hands. He'd never intended that, he'd only been concerned because the magic seemed to be getting out of hand.

And after last night, he had no doubt she would be of the same mind. The look in her eyes, standing there amidst all that destruction, had told Kíli everything he needed to know.

The lass he loved was still there, he had not lost her to the lust of power that so often afflicted those with magical ability—or any sort of extraordinary ability, for that matter.

Instead, there'd been a devastated woman, horrified at what her best intentions had wrought.

His _idúzhib_, his heart, his beloved. In pain.

Kíli quickened his steps.

She was sitting there, in the place he'd hoped to take her, Bilbo beside her with a hand on her back as she stared toward the brightening half of the sky. The hobbit saw him and murmured in Ryn's ear; she didn't move, but nodded slowly, and Bilbo gave him a wan smile as he approached.

"She's exhausted, Kíli, please don't be too harsh with her just now," he murmured.

The Prince winced as if stung. "I don't intend to be harsh with her at all, Master Hobbit." Then he took a good look at his friend. "You look like you could use some rest."

Bilbo chuckled humorlessly. "I couldn't leave her last night. She was...well, you'll see. She wasn't really herself. But it's you she needs, not me."

Kíli's throat constricted, and he nodded. "I am here."

Bilbo clapped him on the shoulder and headed back to camp, while Kíli approached Ryn. She didn't move when he sat beside her, close enough their shoulders touched. He felt her trembling, though, and fought the urge to pull her into his arms and forget talking about the situation, just hold her until she knew how much he loved her.

But they _had_ to talk about this.

"I love you," he started, thinking it was best to start on an encouraging note. But Ryn just snorted.

"Guess that makes you a fool, then."

Kíli blinked, uncertain how to react to such blatant, agonizing hatred. He gulped and decided to meet it head on.

"How so?"

She turned to him, eyes blazing. "Do you think I'm stupid, Kíli? Do you think I don't _know_ what I did last night? That I'm not painfully aware of what it means for both of us? I lost control, I nearly killed some of our—of _your_—own kin, I passed the point of redemption. Frankly, I'm surprised they haven't mobbed and executed me yet. Certainly I have no place here now, and I've dragged you down with me. If you still love me after all that, then you really are a fool."

Kíli was quiet for a moment, understanding that his beloved's pain was manifesting as fury just now; if he knew Ryn, he only had to wait a few more minutes, let her rant a little bit more, and her agony and fear would overtake her anger.

_Then_ he would be able to reach her.

"But I do love you," he murmured, because it was true, but mostly to encourage her to keep talking.

It worked.

"You're stupid!" she responded. "I'm not fit to stand at the side of the Prince of Erebor, and you should know that. You shouldn't even _be_ here with me right now, Kíli, it'll only strengthen the case of those who would stand against you after this...I'm worthy of neither your love nor your regard, please, just...go away..." Ryn was fighting tears now, and still Kíli waited, maintaining his distance.

_Just a minute more._

"I'm not going anywhere."

Ryn screamed her frustration into her knees. "Leave, Kíli! I can't stand to be near you right now! I hate you, I hate this, I hate all of it...I hate who I am..." she was sobbing outright now, and the Prince steadied himself, pushing her declaration of hatred toward him to the back of his mind, knowing she didn't mean it. "I just can't win, Kíli, no matter what I do I hurt people..."

_Now._

Kíli wrapped both arms around his trembling, sobbing _bandinh_, and she wailed her grief into his tunic. He shushed her gently, whispering in her ear while she cried, not bothering to hold back his own tears as they dripped into her curls.

"I love you, Ryn, it's going to be okay...I love you..." he murmured, over and over, like a mantra.

Eventually, she quieted enough to answer him. She pulled back and he swiped gently at her wet, puffy cheeks. "I love you too," she whispered, her voice wrecked. "But there are still consequences of what happened last night we have to deal with. _I_ have to deal with."

Kíli nodded. "There are, but they aren't quite as dire as you suspected, love. You healed them all. Your magic won the skirmish for us." Ryn was shaking her head, so Kíli placed a hand on either side of her face and directed her to look at him. She complied, still trembling, and he kissed her nose.

"You're right that you lost control and that it was nearly catastrophic. But it _wasn't_, not quite, and you fixed whatever damage you did unintentionally, and then some. Ryn...I won't lie to you: several of the dwarves now hate you. But most of them are intelligent enough to understand what happened. And you? I think it's safe to assume you'll not allow your magic to overpower you like that again." Kíli fingered Ryn's courtship braids, the leather thong that wove through them, kissed her sore eyelids, allowing his own vulnerability to show as he whispered, "Sweetheart. Don't leave me."

Ryn made a little choking sound of distress—he suspected she hadn't considered that her words meant abandoning _him_, abandoning _them_—and wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing tight. "I won't. Kíli, I _won't_; I'm right here. I'm so sorry."

Kíli held her for the next hour, as they talked like they hadn't done in days, and their words were a healing balm to one another, soothing the hurts they'd endured and shoring up their strength for the ones they would doubtless face in the days to come.

Eventually, Kíli led Ryn back to his tent, and they slept, wrapped up in each other and counting on their complete exhaustion to keep any nightmares at bay.

* * *

Yusräa nodded to Fíli's guards as she knocked on the door of his personal chambers and received a shouted "come in!" from inside. They made no attempt to stop her, so she assumed Fíli's pride had kept him from telling anyone what had transpired between them the day before.

_Fool._

But it worked in her favor, so she grinned and opened the door, stepping inside Fíli's private rooms confidently.

"Just a second, Balin, I want to take this missive to Qir for Kíli before we—"

The young King stopped in his tracks when he saw who stood in his room. "You," he practically snarled.

Yusräa grinned. "How intelligent. Think you can manage to hold onto your tongue long enough to call for your guards?" Fíli's eyes narrowed, and he looked about to do just that, so the sorceress interrupted him. "Ah, ah. Not so fast, young Son of Durin. Perhaps you'd best find out what you're dealing with first, hm?" Smiling, Yusräa muttered a word in the Ancient Black Speech.

Fíli's eyes widened and she heard him choke back a sound of alarm as a long black gag appeared and tied itself tightly around his head, tripping him up so he landed in a chair. Similar bindings appeared at both wrists and ankles, and Fíli struggled momentarily. "There now," Yusräa cooed. "I don't like to be interrupted."

The lad glared at her, his blue eyes stormy.

Yusräa just laughed. "Oh come now, Fíli, don't look at me like that. You had to know something was amiss; I am certainly no dwarf princess. Do not worry, all shall be revealed in time. But first, you'll be telling me everything you know about the mithril rooms. And to ensure your cooperation, I'll make you a deal. How's that sound?"

Fíli's gaze hadn't left hers, but it was still hard as stone.

"Listen now," Yusräa continued. "The lass whose identity I...borrowed...for this little escapade; she is alive in my dungeons. If you cooperate with me, I will not kill her when this is all over and the Lonely Mountain is mine. Also, your beloved brother will be returning soon, will he not? 'Twould be a shame if he met with..._misfortune_...on the road."

The mention of Nalla got only a small response from Fíli; but the threat aimed at the Prince elicited a low growl that made Yusräa chuckle in amusement.

"Ah, there's the weak spot. Very well then. Your help in exchange for the life of your brother. Have we a deal, Son of Durin?"

Fíli seemed to be warring with himself, agonizing over the decision, and Yusräa felt her patience wearing thin. How difficult was it to nod and agree?

But she said nothing, and was rewarded a minute later when Fíli's blue eyes lifted, exhausted and frightened, to meet hers. He looked defeated as he nodded, and Yusräa resisted the urge to cackle in delight.

"Most excellent." Another ancient word, and the gag disappeared, though Fíli barely seemed to notice. He just stared straight ahead, as if preparing himself for the reality that he was about to betray his kingdom. Yusräa stepped closer, counting on the still-present bindings to prevent the King from throttling her himself. Knowing he couldn't move, the sorceress didn't bother resisting the urge to taunt him, leaning close and whispering in his ear.

"Traitor."

Fíli shuddered. "What do you want to know?" She heard the shame in his low voice, and it delighted her.

"Mithril magic. What is it and how does it work?"

"It is magic imbedded in the mountain itself," Fíli answered in a monotone. "A connection, if you will, between the King and the Stone. As far as I know, it can only be wielded by the King Under the Mountain, so I'm not sure what you want with it."

Yusräa snorted. "You're a fool, Fíli, if you think you're the only one with the power to wield such magic."

Fíli stared, real shock seeming to register a moment later. "Wait...you plan to try to use the magic of the Mountain _yourself_?"

"Kill you and there won't _be_ a King under the Mountain—no one to stand in my way. My own magic will allow me to control the stone." Yusräa looked hard at Fíli—this was her favorite part, when her victim realized just how bad things were. "Erebor will have a new Queen instead."

Fíli shook his head. "Are you _insane_? The dwarves will never accept such an atrocity."

"With the power of Durin's magic at my disposal, none will dare oppose me."

Fíli looked helpless, and Yusräa felt the first stirrings of victory bloom in her chest. "You can't..." he murmured faintly. Yusräa laughed heartily.

"Watch me. Now, your Majesty," she sneered the title, delighting in Fíli's wince. "Take me to this mithril room."

* * *

Kerif looked at Nalla as they rode up to the Main Gate of the Lonely Mountain. It was quite the sight, but one he'd seen before; and he wanted to see the Princess' reaction. Her expression of complete awe was amusing and completely relatable, and Kerif couldn't hold back a small grin.

The elves did not notice, though, riding into the mountain without slowing—evidently they were expected, as promised, Kerif realized when the Gate Guard didn't try to stop them—and they dismounted quickly. A white-haired dwarf that Kerif recognized as the King's Chief Advisor met them.

"Come, this way," Balin said softly. His gaze lingered momentarily on Kerif, and the young dwarf felt hot under his stare, but there was no time to address his presence just now.

Kerif had no doubt he would be paying for his transgressions the moment Yusräa was sent packing.

Balin spoke to the elf prince as they hurried along the halls. "We're to meet Fíli in his study in five minutes, to discuss the plan—"

He was interrupted as they turned a corner and ran smack into the King in question, and Nalla's doppelganger. Kerif stared unabashedly.

_So that's how she did it._ He looked from Nalla to Yusräa, disturbed by how good the sorceress' disguise was.

Fíli hadn't stood a chance.

The Princess gasped softly, and the King's eyes widened. Nalla—_no, Yusräa,_ Kerif reminded himself—looked outraged.

"I see my lie is well and truly discovered," she stated coldly, zeroing in on the lass whose identity she had stolen. "I should've killed you when I had the chance, girl." Her gaze fell on Kerif, and she growled. "And you, traitor. You're not worth the maggoty bread we fed you in that dungeon."

Kerif couldn't bring himself to meet the King's eyes, but he stared down Yusräa, fighting revulsion at the sight of that evil look on Nalla's pretty face. "Well you needn't fear; I've no intention of soliciting your hospitality again, Witch."

Nalla made a small sound that might have been amusement from behind him, and Kerif barely had time to register shock at her nerve before Yusräa had a wicked-looking knife held to Fíli's throat.

"Amusing. You know, I was going to do this alone, but I suppose an audience will just add to the novelty of it. Come along, all of you."

_Rukhsul. Orc dung and dragon fire. This is bad. _

She slid the knife to Fíli's back, and he led the way to what Kerif assumed must've been a mithril room. He felt miserable as he followed, eyeing Balin and Dwalin, along with the assembled elves. Kerif knew the dwarf brothers were formulating a plan—he caught the silent looks, the surreptitious Khuzdul gestures they kept at their sides—and he tried to stay alert for signs of what it might be.

Self-loathing could wait; for now, he needed to try to undo what he started all those weeks ago with his betrayal.

* * *

Fíli's mind raced as he led 'Nalla' and the small company of elves and dwarves through Erebor's halls. Very few dwarrow were about in this quarter, and Fíli was grateful for that, despite the fact he had a plan for dealing with this...whoever she was.

_She wants mithril magic? All right then, I'll show her mithril magic_.

They reached the Ring of Ahyrunul in relatively short order, and Fíli led everyone in, carefully directing the imposter's attention to the thick veins of mithril in the walls and ceiling—and specifically not the roughly-circular ring of runes in the floor.

It seemed to work; she walked right behind him, staring with power-hungry eyes at all the patterns and joints in the shining metal that he pointed out. Calling on his years of experience creating mischief with Kíli, Fíli wove a blatant outright lie about the room that he hoped wouldn't get him killed.

"Each joint in the mithril is a nexus of the magic," he said, voice hushed with awe. "The more joints you activate, the stronger the power. For small tasks like interrogating a prisoner, you need only use a few; for a large-scale defense of the mountain, you'd likely need them all."

Just a little more, the girl was nearly inside the Ring...

'Nalla' grinned. "And how do you activate the magic?"

_There_. Her feet were barely inside the runes.

Fíli took the mithril rod Balin handed him reverently. "With this."

_Now_.

With a shout, the King spun the staff and stabbed it into the coin-sized spot of mithril on the floor just outside the Ring. The magic hummed through the air as it came to life, the runes on the floor glowing white-hot. His enemy seemed to realize instantly what Fíli had done, and screamed her rage, starting toward him with a threat on her lips.

She made it to the edge of the circle, then ran smack into a shimmering wall of white magic, hard enough to knock her back onto her rear.

"You stinking whelp!" she screeched. "How dare you trick me? You really think you'll get away with-aggh!"

Fíli blinked in surprise—he hadn't done anything yet—as the magic of the Ring swirled around the dwarf lass angrily. He looked at Balin.

What was happening?

His advisor and friend looked as mystified as Fíli felt; so the King simply stood, allowing the magic to work and not trying to influence it in any way.

The dwarf lass inside the circle of runes jerked convulsively on the ground, choked cries escaping as she fought whatever the mithril was trying to accomplish. Fíli blinked when her legs began to lengthen, skirts going from ankle-length to just below her knees.

He heard someone behind him gasp.

For himself, he could barely take his eyes off the oddity before him. The imposter was growing taller, slimmer, her hair and eyes darkening to deep black; her skin white instead of ruddy.

Moments later, she staggered to her feet, tall and imposing and possessed of the cruelest beauty Fíli had ever witnessed.

He felt a little awed, honestly, and more than a little repulsed. He forced his face to remain impassive.

"Ah, there you are. The Ring of Ahyrunul abides no lie-evidently not even in the form of a disguise." He smiled at Balin, who looked like his scholar's brain was exploring every possible angle and effect of this new knowledge. "So," Fíli continued, stifling his amusement at his Uncle's oldest friend and turning back to the human—for she was clearly human—woman. "Who are you?"

The dark lady drew herself up to her tallest, looking down on the dwarf King haughtily. "I am Yusräa, Sorceress of Helcënost, and soon-to-be Queen Under the Mountain."

Fíli cocked an eyebrow. "You still believe that, do you? Please realize you're not going anywhere, Yusräa. You're going to tell us everything we need to know, and then...Balin, what happens to folks in the Ring of Ahyrunul after we're done interrogating them?"

"I know not, my King. We have never used it before."

"Ah, yes. So we really don't know what the mithril is going to do with you once we're through here. I wouldn't count on it being comfortable, though."

Yusräa narrowed her eyes. "You are not the only one with magic to wield, brat. _Kahfshog!"_

Whatever the mithril ring did, it clearly could not protect those outside it from the power intrinsic in the Ancient Languages of Arda. The Tongue of Melkor had a magic all its own, independent of the one calling it forth, and Fíli gasped in pain as he found himself hunched on the ground, the mithril rod clattering to the stone beside him. He lifted streaming eyes—Mahal, what had she said? It _hurt_—to see the rest of the room in a similar situation; even the elves were moaning softly on the cold floor.

Yusräa smirked as she stepped over the threshold of the magic ring. "Poor little Fíli," she taunted, another word in Melkor's language assaulting his senses and making Fíli gasp for air. "Too young and stupid to resist my charms. You really should have kicked me out the moment you saw me."

Fíli's head felt like it was going to explode. He barely saw Kerif crawling along the stone toward the sorceress.

"It would've been the only way you stood a chance against me."

The young former lieutenant's fingers curled around a dagger Fíli recognized—it was the one Kíli had made for him mere months ago, back when they first re-opened Erebor's forges. His brother was no genius in weaponsmithing, but he had worked long and hard on that dagger, wanting so _badly_ to have a gift worthy of a king to present to Fíli; and the simple, elegant dagger had been the result. A labor of love, pure and strong and true, unbreakable—just like their bond as brothers. How it had ended up on the floor, Fíli couldn't really remember.

But he couldn't think much on it, now that Yusräa had him by the throat, hovering over him with another of those hateful words on her lips, choking him.

"_Gaubd__û__khim__â__ sanzigil zigrel od__ú__hyar um__ú__rad tada zatamarad sigin tar__â__g ra in__ú__doy ul Mahal_..." Fíli gasped softly, feeling the mithril spark beneath his palms, flat on the floor.

Yusräa laughed. "_Bartas_," she hissed, and Fíli had to bite back a scream of agony.

_"Gaubdûkhimâ sanzigil zigrel odúhyar umúrad tada zatamarad sigin tarâg ra inúdoy ul Mahal!"_ The magic numbed his fingers, and Fíli commanded in the loudest voice he could muster:

"_Od__ú__yhar_!"

Yusräa yelped as the shimmering sparks threw her off Fíli, landing sprawled on the floor a few feet away. Fíli turned over, onto his hands and knees, and reached for his sword, but the lack of oxygen made him too slow; Yusräa shouted another word and he was lifted against the stone wall, a tortured scream on his lips.

_I'm going to die, how could I have been so foolish, it's all over now..._

Yusräa stalked toward him. "When are you going to accept defeat, Son of Durin? Even if you defeat me, you will accomplish nothing."

_We are dwarves, we never accept defeat..._

"The One to whom I have sworn allegiance, the one who taught me his words and how to use them, he is more powerful than any dwarven magic you possess."

Fíli forced his gaze to stay on Yusräa—but he saw Kerif creeping toward the sorceress, dagger still in hand.

"And he will kill you, if I do not. Except he'll use your beloved brother to do it."

Fíli's mind went blank_. Kíli?_ Kill him?

_What?_

"Is that horror I see in your eyes?" Yusräa grinned. "You heard me. Your brother will fall to the Dark Lord; and then he will kill his young lover, and then your mother, and then you."

"No," was all Fíli could murmur. He was so dizzy and sick, both with pain and with the idea of Kíli's defeat.

"Oh, yes. The Line of Durin will end with you, young Fíli; and the Mountain will belong to Melkor."

"No," he repeated, forcing his eyes open just in time to see Kerif bury the dagger hilt-deep in Yusräa's back, warrior training guiding the blade straight to her heart.

The sorceress' eyes widened, and she let out a bloodcurdling scream, turning and striking young Kerif with magic black as night. The dwarf warrior flew across the room, slammed into the wall, and slumped to the ground, unmoving.

But Yusräa demanded Fíli's attention; her skin was tightening, drying out, cracking; her hair lightening to white and thinning to barely a few wisps, her eyes glazing over as she screamed. The sorceress aged before his very eyes, her scream quieting as she turned to dust at his feet.

Fíli stood in shock, blinking. Slowly, the others stirred, standing and checking on each other, murmuring quietly. Nalla—the _real_ Nalla—ran to Kerif and began running her fingers over his face, his hair, trying to figure out how badly he was hurt. Dwalin stumbled over to help support the King as he swayed on his feet.

"It's all right, laddie, you did well. It's over now."

_No_, Fíli thought faintly.

_It's only beginning._

* * *

"_Gaubdûkhimâ sanzigil zigrel odúhyar umúrad tada zatamarad sigin tarâg ra inúdoy ul Mahal..._"-"May the most powerful mithril magic smite the one who seeks to harm the Line of Durin and the Children of Mahal."

"_Kahfshag!"—_literally, _"_Sting them!"

"_Bartas"_-"Make him scream."


End file.
